


The Good Son

by lordelannette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Another Boy who grew up isolated from it all, Blood and Gore, Bows & Arrows, Boy That Grew Up in a Harsh World, Dark Character, Drowning, Gen, Hermione and Draco are happily married, Hermione is Scorpius' Mother, Inspired by the film 'The Good Son', Mental Instability, POV Albus Severus Potter, POV Scorpius Malfoy, Psychological Drama, Twisted Kids, Violence, bad influence, deep swimming pools
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn't exist.





	1. Chapter 1

The hunt was the easy part.

Running; pumping his legs as fast as they could go, feeling the muscles in his legs and thighs clench as his skin was pulled tight. Feeling the wind brush against his face and turn his hair wild and still pushing forward with his target in sight. 

When he jumped over rocks and ducked beneath low tree branches, the breath left his lungs in harsh pants, feeling his feet leave the ground only to fly back down with a thud and not a break in his pace. It would take less than a second before he would find his footing again and his heels dug deep into the grass and allowed him to shoot off of his toes. 

It was all exhilarating, feeling his heart pump against his rib cage and the adrenaline coursing through his veins like the sweetest drug. Intoxicating, every bit of it. He knew he was addicted to it; the hunt. Prowling until he was suddenly there, wrapping his small yet strong hands around the neck of the squirming creature kicking against his hold.

But he wouldn't let go.

Wouldn't slacken his grip.

He had caught it, adding another notch on his ever growing list as he lowered himself to the ground, standing on his knees as he hunched over the rodent.

His hands clenched even harder, feeling the pulse beat dangerously fast against his palms as the creature realized it's fate.

It realized it was dying.

And by his hands.

At that very moment, with its oxygen supply cut off the animal knew it was going to die and it knew that he was the one in charge. He was superior compared to the creature fading in his hands.

A smile slowly drifted onto his face as the whimpers started to die down but he wasn't done. Merlin knew that this creature's torture wasn't going to end so peacefully.

He released one of his hands to grab the silver dagger in his pocket, the one his grandfather had given him for his tenth birthday that was adorned with the family crest and a snake head carved into the handle. With one fluid motion, he cut a clean line across the creature's throat, shifting to the side as a spray shot from the vein in its neck.

It was beautiful.

Like in a way that reminded him of his mother. The way her honey locks flowed down her back in curled waves or how the gowns his father drowned her in, would flutter in the wind and brush against him like lingering kisses, like the kisses he would see her plant on his father's lips and down his pale neck.

It was alluring.

Like when he would catch his father encircle his arms around his mother's waist and whisper things he couldn't hear into her ears, or how he swore the snake and skull tattooed on his father's and grandfather's forearms would move if his eyes stayed trained on it for too long. It was like a sweet murmur that resembled the ones from the portrait room that would spill into his ear drum and remind him of how god-like he was just because of his family name.

It was mesmerizing.

And he knew it was wrong.

But he didn't give a damn because it enticed him.

He enjoyed the feeling of knowing that he had ended a life at the will of his own actions, at his own hands. He could feel his heart rate increase moments before he threw down the rock, noticing how a signature Malfoy smirk would dash across his face in anticipation before the inevitable happened. He relished in the sickening crunch that would invade his hearing as he smashed it down onto the small rodent's skull, not flinching as the creature spasmed with the fight to live. It was just a creature, one that didn't matter to him or the rest of the world.

Because it was insignificant.

It wasn't important like someone like him.

His silver eyes stared down at the dead corpse, watching the dark blood ooze from the bunny's ears and nose. The dark red ribbons streamed down the brown fur, painting the grass with its ruby stains yet he still couldn't tear his steel gaze away.

The image before him was too tempting to look away from. He didn't want to look away, didn't even want to blink.

His grandfather would be proud. His father might give him a nod of approval if his mother was nowhere in sight. But his mother wouldn't. She would see it as a crime, a sin against humanity both muggle and wizard. He sometimes didn't understand her logic but he didn't push it. He knew her limits and he knew just how far he could push the boundaries before there were consequences to pay. It was confusing to see his mother compared to his father and the Malfoy's before them but he loved her nonetheless. He loved her more than anything and anyone. No one came between a mother and a son and he knew that it was the same for the two of them. He was her only child, the production of her and his father's love, and no matter what he ever did, there was no doubt that she would always be there. He could have been the next Dark Lord and she would still be waiting at his side, ready to welcome him home as if nothing had ever happened.

But he was no Dark Lord, nor would he ever be, but he was still Scorpius Malfoy- the one and only child to Draco and Hermione Malfoy. At the ripe age of eleven, one year shy of attending Hogwarts, he was a perfect combination of the two. He had the brains, the looks, the money, the reputation, everything that could possibly be handed to him was done so only on a silver platter. The blood that swirled through his veins was the best of the best, coming from the brightest Muggleborn to ever enter the Wizarding World and the long lineage of purebloods from the noble line of Malfoy. He had, in retrospect, the best of both worlds.

And he loved it. He loved what he was, who he was, but most importantly, he loved the looks of pure terror that would flash across the public's face just at the mere sight of his family.

He lived for those looks.

Despite his mother being the appraised war heroine, a member of the Golden Trio, it was as if everything she had done in her previous years hadn't mattered to society anymore. Once she had put on the flashy wedding ring that his father had chosen for her, it was as if the band had tainted her. He had learned long ago that his parents marriage had been a taboo to the wizarding world, opposite in nearly every aspect yet somehow after the war they had been bonded together in more ways than he knew. People still gushed when they got glimpses of her but that was only until they caught the figure standing by her side almost possessively.

The ex-Death Eater.

His father was still avoided at all costs but it wasn't as it ever bothered him. His father was one of those men who would sit in a room and you can feel it: the simmer, the sense of some unpredictable force that might, at any moment, break loose, and do something terrible. It made Scor feel proud to beam up at his father, to feel the obvious power that practically poured from his father and down onto him. He basked in it and so did those around him. Besides his best mate's father, Blaise Zabini, and on occasion, Theodore Nott, his father generally stayed to himself when he wasn't smothering his mother in kisses or trapping them inside their chambers for hours on end. But his father, Draco Malfoy, was a smart man and knew when people had ulterior motives behind their gestures especially when dealing with their family. His father had taken over the Malfoy companies and that alone gave him control of nearly one third of the entire stock of England so it was safe to say that they were immensely wealthy and people were always eager to get a portion whenever they cool. They were so bloody rich that even with the money they had remaining after they alone helped restore Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, a huge portion donated to the endless chain of charities that his mother buried herself in, and building several designated Muggleborn orphanages, they had purchased land and built eight new Manor's that they used only for vacation purposes. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the riches that flowed between his fingertips which, according to his mother, was a trait that he solely inherited from his father. Some days, more often than not, he would proclaim that he was nearly his father's carbon copy. The same hair, the same eyes, the same skin complexion...it was apparent that the Malfoy men certainly did have strong genes.

Then again, he based that entirely off of himself. He was the only Malfoy heir now. His parents hadn't provided him with a sibling and he was glad because of it. They had talked about it from time to time as a family but each time he shot them down, more his mother than his father, and it was dropped for a few more months until his mother would bring it up again. The fact was he didn't want to share. He didn't want his mother to share his love with another child or his father to spend his free time with his second born. He wanted to be their one and only and he hated to think otherwise. He deserved their whole, undivided attention and that's what he made sure he got from them. A second child was completely out of the picture.

But as he stared down at the dead bunny he supposed it would be even more fun to share his experiences with someone he could control. A younger sibling, boy or girl, would be like a puppet in his hands and he would be able to control every word that spewed from their mouth or every action they did before they did it. However….his mother would wrap her arms around a second child...kiss the head of a second child...love the second child possibly more than him.

He gritted his perfectly straight white teeth as he drove the dagger into the soft tissue of the animal's stomach. No. He certainly didn't want another sibling.

Not now.

Not ever.

He pushed down harder on the dagger, slashing through the organs as they spilled out of the bloodied corpse but the thrill was starting to fade, he could feel it leaving just as fast as it had come. With a heavy sigh he lifted up his stormy gaze to scan the vast grounds of Malfoy Manor to see if he could spot his next catch. Since it was their main house there were hardly ever animals on the property besides the small woodland creatures that ventured into his grandmother's gardens but when they went to the other houses, especially the one in Muggle Britain, there was a more selective batch that he could hunt down and kill. Here, there were only damn bunnies and chipmunks and squirrels and birds-

His pale blonde head snapped to the side as he saw a flash of brown scurry into one of the bushes and he quickly nudged the dead rodent under one of the loose cobblestones that he had dug a hole underneath. He couldn't even imagine what his mother would say or do to him if she found out about his...little hobby...so he had to keep it hidden.

For now at least.

He jumped to his feet, swiftly brushing away the grass on his slacks before he took a step towards the direction of what he had spotted but just as he got half way, from his peripheral vision he saw one of the french double doors open and his mother emerged on the stone terrace.

"Scor!" her angelic voice called out for him. "It's time for lunch. Come inside, love."

He glared darkly one last time at the spot where the creature disappeared before turning towards her and smiling the most innocent smile he could muster.

"Coming, mom!"


	2. Chapter 2

Draco swirled the liquid amber around in the crystal glass, eyeing it as a slow laugh spilled from his lips.

"Seriously, mate," Blaise tried and failed to pull a straight face. "How the fuck are you being asked to attend the annual ceremony for the rehabilitation of werewolves into society? You fucking hate werewolves especially after Greyback lived in your dungeons for over a year and yet you're ready to go to a bloody ball and sip champagne with them?!"

He scoffed, "By all means, I will not be sipping champagne with them and you should know that the only reason why I have to go is because of-"

"Ah yes," Blaise smirked into his glass. "Because of Granger. Sweet, naive, little Granger that has a bleeding heart that has saved the Wizarding World countless of times. I swear, Gryffindors and their disgusting morals make me want to vomit."

He chuckled at his companion's words, rolling his eyes as Blaise scrunched his nose in disgust. "You do know that Hermione and I have been married for twelve years yet you still refer to her by her maiden name, right? I mean it's not like I call Weaslette by her nickname anymore," he smirked, raising his eyebrows slightly as Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Oops," he drawled out, "it just slipped out. Speaking of which, how is your hellcat? She's carrying your sixth child, or wait, was it your fifth? I tend to forget after the shit load of baby shower invitations that pile up on my desk."

"You're hilarious," Blaise deadpanned. "I forgot how fucking funny you are with your-"

"You know for being the father of three children you have a terrible habit of not watching your mouth," his lips curled into a teasing grin. "Your back must be killing you from all the nights your wife shuns you to the couch."

Blaise erupted into laughter, tilting his head back against the leather seat. "I haven't shared a bed with my wife in four days. Talon has me sleeping in his bedroom because someone's son," he shot a pointed look at him, "just happened to tell him quite the story about a fucking basilisk that killed a girl. Do you know that now he wants no part of being sorted into Slytherin? My own son!"

"Let's not forget that it's not a story, Blaise," he reminded him with an eery calm. "It's not my fault that Hermione read to Scorpius the entire Hogwarts: A History before he could even speak. And, most importantly, it wasn't as if my son acted alone. You're eldest is just as much at fault as mine is."

Blaise opened his mouth to retort but just as he was about to speak, there was a pecking at the window.

"Who the hell would be writing to you, you old sod?"

With a sigh, he got up from his chair. "It's not for me. I hold my post until Monday mornings so that nothing disturbs my weekends."

"You have four day weekends," Blaise pointed out. "What if it's an emergency at one of the companies?"

He snorted in amusement. "That's why I hired you, mate. Being VP has it's perks and that just happens to be one of them. Besides, it's probably that blasted pen pal of hers," he spat venomously as he reached out to untie the letter from the owl.

Blaise took a large gulp from the crystal. "I can't believe you still let her talk to Krum. The whole wizarding community knows he still has the biggest fascination with her," he placed his glass down onto the table before straightening up. "Did you ever check if that rumor was true? The one where he had a portrait of her hanging in his bedroom?"

"Of course I did," he snapped. "And it was false, remember? I had to hire that woman to seduce him but he refused to sleep with her, only tried to show off that bloody mansion he has in Bulgaria as if it were something up to our standards. Nothing but a fucking shed," he mumbled, not seeing the smirk that Blaise shot in his direction.

"Maybe he has it in his private bathroom," Blaise shrugged. "Imagine the man taking a shower and having the portrait comment about his-"

"Blaise," Draco growled out in a warning but when his gaze glanced down at the name of the sender, he froze, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"It's from Potter," he whispered more to himself than Blaise but he knew the later had heard him just as well.

Blaise's face contorted into anger at the name, shooting up from his seat to check for himself. "Why? He hasn't spoken to her in years ever since she married you. And now he sends her a letter out of the blue?"

He remained silent as he stared down at the letter. There was a large part of him that wanted to just throw it in the fireplace and keep it a secret between him and Blaise but then there was another part, a much larger part, that wanted to rip it open and see what the Scarhead had to say. He could feel his old feelings starting to bubble to the surface and he had to clench his jaw as he thought of the possibility of the Golden Trio reuniting.

It made him see red.

It made him so fucking angry.

Hermione had tried to reform their friendship for years after they had gotten married and eventually she stopped trying when it was apparent they were never going to reply back to her. Potter had seen their relationship as a betrayal and in the worst degree as possible. He hadn't been there when Hermione had told them, even though he had fought her tooth and nail, and he had to physically restrain himself from tracking them down and sending two killing curses their way when she had reappeared at their house in tears, sobbing into his arms for hours on end. However, Weasley had been a different story. The twat had tried desperately to make her come to her senses, even going as far to declare his undying love for her as if his proclamation would root her to the lump's freckled side. As if she would leave his side for the Weasel.

As if he would let her.

For months, his thoughts had plagued him, thinking that she had somehow resented him because of the reactions of her friends but she always coerced him. And then, by some miracle, probably thanks to Ginny, Hermione had found herself thinking less about the other two of the Golden Trio and more towards living her life the way she wanted to. Everything had been going perfect for the past decade but now...now Potter wanted to contact her? Why?

"Open it," Blaise whispered to him as if Hermione was right outside the door.

Without thinking twice, he turned it over and tore into it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The door closed behind him with a soft click as he walked into their bedroom. It was dark, lit only by the candelabra's on their nightstands, but his gaze immediately slid to her, drinking her in like he needed her for his survival. His eyes softened as he caught sight of her smiling at him through the reflection of their mirror while she brushed her damp hair, wearing her silk black robe that rested high on her thigh. The sight alone made the front of his pants tighten in anticipation, preparing for their ritual nightly routine, but the letter in his suit pocket was weighing him down in more ways than he would've liked.

He held his breath as she turned toward him, prowling towards him the way only a lover could do until he gently wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned back on their grand bed, taking her down with him as he sat. She was quick to perch herself on his lap, trapping him between her tight thighs as her arms wrapped around his neck. He wanted to melt into her touch; the smoothness of her soft skin, the rose water that fumed off of her in wafts, and the warmth that she provided him was tempting beyond imaginable. She was his beacon- his calling home that he threw himself on every time he arrived to the manor. She was his everything, his reason to live and continue with the cycle of life that he had once been eager to leave. Those had been dark days. Dark, dreary days that seemed as if they were endless, ready to wallow him up at the first wrong movement. There were still days that when he woke up to an empty bed, there would be a heart wrenching panic that would shoot through his body. There would be long seconds where he felt as if he had dreamed it all up. That he was still days away from his Azkaban trial and Hermione was back with the Trio and as far away from him as possible. Even when he would walk through the Manor halls and become confronted with a chilling quiet, he would glance around as if Lord Voldemort or Aunt Bella would apparate right in front of him and strike him dead or worse, Hermione and Scorpius. Neither of them would be spared and that's what terrified him. He knew that it was foolish to think and act the way he did but living through a war tended to have its negative effects on a person. Times were vastly different than they were ten years ago and it was for the better for everyone. Perhaps not him entirely considering society hated him and his father, along with the other remaining Death Eaters that were either rotting in Azkaban or hiding away from the public.

Not him though. His trial had run, surprisingly, smooth. Much to everyone's bewilderment, Hermione and Potter had spoken for him, proclaiming that he was innocent and he had been quick to be released. At the time Malfoy Manor had been in strict ownership to the Aurors for investigation purposes and it had been Hermione that opened her doors for him. There had been rocky moments at the beginning, leaving the two of them nearly killing each other in the process, but somehow a relationship had formed between them. A strong relationship that practically left him following after her like a lost puppy, clinging onto her leg and begging for her to never let him go. Six months later he had propped himself down on one knee and asked the question he dreaded for weeks, but he had asked her anyways and that night had been one of the bests in his life. That had been the first time he had cried in her arms.

His mother had been immensely pleased, crying like he had, but he would never inform her on that bit of information. She had been so eager to move Hermione in as soon as possible that the older witch had even helped pack his future wife's belongings and move her into the Manor in less than twenty-four hours. It had taken his father some time to get used to the new ways of life but he had been glad to see Draco happy. And really, his father owed it to him after putting him in Voldemort's hands on more than enough occasions. Both of his parents had quickly made Hermione part of their small family and he still remembered the day that they cried together when informed of Hermione's pregnancy. Yes, stone cold proclaimed Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, had cried when Scorpius made his debut into the world and it had been beautiful.

Everything was perfect and it had been for years.

That was until Harry Potter decided to send his wife the letter. He was still at a loss of words, not truly knowing how to react but he knew he needed to tell Hermione that...

She moved to close the space between their lips but, for once in his life, he pulled away from her, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out Potter's letter instead of devouring his wife the way only a husband could do. He didn't meet her eyes as he pushed it towards her and watched as she analyzed the torn seam before turning it over.

It took only a few seconds for her to see Potter's name and when she did, a loud gasp escaped her tempting lips and he watched as a thousand emotions flittered across her face.

Her head shot up to him with wide eyes, desperately searching his face as if he could provide her with the answers she needed until her head tilted back down. Her fingers hesitantly trailed the torn seal before she slowly pulled the letter out.

He knew what the letter contained and he wished that he were the heartless bastard he had been in the past and just burned the damn thing. But he wasn't and even if he had been, there were certain lines one didn't cross especially when dealing with the deceased.

He should have never opened it and just burned it when it had arrived.

Where was his wife's time turner when he needed it?


	3. Chapter 3

Draco gently placed the steaming cup of cocoa in front of her as her eyes sadly stared down at the granite countertop. It was well past midnight but still, neither of them took themselves to bed after they had left their chamber. He could see the way her mind was still in shock at what she had read in the letter Potter had sent her and it was as if she was still trying to process it. He wished that she had simply shrugged at it in indifference, or even made one quick remark, but instead, his wife, ever the Gryffindor, buried herself in her own misery as if Potter and her had never been separated for all these years. She was acting as if the scarhead was still her best friend and it grated on his nerves. Immensely.

But he was a better man now.

Well, that's what he had forced himself to show her. In reality he was still the arrogant arse that she had met in Hogwarts all those years ago, it was just now he was in love with her and in a desperate kind of way that made him want to cringe. Of course he had gotten over this realization years before the two of them had married but he still had to fight the urge to just apparate to the blasted Boy-Who-Lived and hex him where he stood for having the audacity to prey on Hermione's weakness. He just really, really, didn't enjoy the thought of Potter pulling Hermione back in to use her the way the death-trap duo had done throughout their school years. He didn't want her to go back to him even under these...mourning...situations. She was his now- a Malfoy, the mother of his son, and if that didn't show his claim on her, he'd Avada anyone that said otherwise.

"What do you want to do?" he reached out to cover her hands with his larger ones as he turned her around in the stool to burrow himself between her thighs. "Tell me what you want me to do," he whispered into her ear.

For several long seconds she simply stared at him with her sad honey eyes before she took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him closer as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I...We have to go," she mumbled to him. "We have to show our respects."

He stiffened in her arms before he could control himself. He knew that she was going to do this, to go running back to Potter as soon as the fucker asked her to. And the worst part was that the entire Wizarding World hadn't heard a peep out of the Chosen One after an entire year after the defeat of Voldemort. Potter had just disappeared but now, now he was weeping to Hermione, acting like the heartbroken husband that just lost his wife. For all Draco knew, Potter could've made the entire story up just so that he could get the sympathy from Hermione just to get her back on his side. There was no reason to trust anything that Potter said yet still, Hermione was just throwing herself out to him. Stupid Gryffindors and their fucking emotions.

"Don't," her fingers slithered into his pale locks and she tugged his head back so that she could find his face. "Don't make this into something it isn't," she sternly told him, knowing all too well of the turmoil that bubbled beneath his surface just at the mention of going back to her old best friend.

At his stubborn silence, her eyes softened as she brought her hands to cup the sides of his angular face. "His wife died," she whispered to him softly. "He feels that he has no one else to turn to and he needs help, love. Please, I...we have to go to show him our support."

He could feel the thin strings of his obstinance snap at her pleading efforts and soon he could do nothing but sigh heavily, nodding his head in agreement. He could never deny his wife anything even if it went against every fiber of his being. Her happiness meant more to him than his own and if that meant attending a damn funeral for some stranger, then so be it. It was just the twisted feeling that disturbed him, knowing that Potter and Hermione were going to be face to face after all these years. Were they going to hug? Were they going to be having private moments together while he sat twiddling his thumbs outside in the hall? What were they going to say to each other?! It's been over a fucking decade for Merlin's sake!

His jaw clenched tightly, gritting his teeth at the idea of his sodding rival from school having his hands all over his wife. He was trying to keep it together but sweet Salazar the images flashing in his head were enough for him to want to cast an unforgivable.

"What makes you think he's going to want to see my face?" he shot at her. "If I remember correctly, it's because of me that he quit talking to you. Yet, you want to act as if nothing happened?"

She bit at her bottom lip, going through his questions before she shrugged. "If he wrote to me then he knew you would be accompanying me if we decided to go," her brow scrunched slightly, "then again-"

"He would think that because he quit talking to you because of me, then you would not hesitate to leave this house and flock to him without me, on the assumption that you would want him to be as happy as possible considering what he's going through," he gave her a pointed look as he tightened his arms around her waist. He wasn't an idiot, for fucks sake. He knew how men worked and it was easy to predict a bloke's intentions by their small actions. He couldn't even recall the amount of men he had hexed because of their desires towards Hermione. Being married to a celebrity did have it's downfall after all and her numerous admirers was the only thing he despised.

She shook her head slightly, her soft brown curls spilling down her shoulders until she huffed. "Then maybe you should-"

"No," he cut her off immediately. "I'm not staying here while you go and console a distraught Potter."

"His wife just died, Draco," she narrowed her eyes at him knowing that his definition of console was vastly different than hers. "He had children with her- a son and a daughter- and he needs help. I...we," she corrected herself at his unimpressed look, "will be going to the funeral and offering our condolences to their family no matter how much we are truly needed. He even asked for-"

"I know bloody well what he asked for and the answer is no," he interrupted her once more. "Scorpius will not be going and that's final." He held his steel gaze with her so that she could understand that there was no way around his words. He had no fucking idea why Potter would ask for the presence of their son and he hadn't had one intention of taking Scor with them. It was a funeral, not a play date, and he couldn't begin to fathom why Potter would ask such a thing. They would be going into unfamiliar territory and he didn't know who was going to be there so taking his only son was out of the question completely.

"I wasn't going to allow Scor to go," she said in all honesty. "I was going to ask if you...had any idea why he would ask that of us?" She looked up at him through her thick lashes expecting the answer that he couldn't provide her. "I had no idea he even had kids, yet...he knew all about Scor."

He dipped his head down to rest on her collar bone, planting a open mouthed kiss against her exposed flesh that her silk robe exposed to him. "The entire Wizarding World knew about Scor's birth. It's not entirely surprising that Potter would eventually get word of it even if he was hiding."

He heard a soft hum leave her lips as she agreed with him before speaking again, "The funeral is in two days. We'll have to tell your parents tomorrow morning and Scor will be so disappointed since I told him I would take him to that new shop, Wonder Emporium, but I suppose it'll have to wait until we get back."

He nodded against her skin, relishing in the smoothness as his cheek nuzzled into her, however, he pulled away with a frown as he felt her stiffen.

"What?"

Her gaze diverted from his as her brows scrunched together. "Do...you think that Ron will be there?"

It was his turn to freeze in her hold. That particular thought hadn't occurred to him yet but now that she had voiced it aloud...He found himself clenching his hands dangerously tight to where his knuckles were white as ice. He may have not enjoyed the thought of Potter but Weasley was an entirely different story. The redhead had made many advances on Hermione, going as far as cornering her in the Ministry when she had worked there before she got pregnant with Scorpius, and yet the tosser still didn't get the idea. Draco couldn't count the number of scuffles he and the Weasel had gotten into since he and Hermione started dating and even still he was constantly setting fire to the love letters that would get delivered. But he figured that Weasley had to have learned it from somewhere.

The whole damn Weasley family was a nuisance to the public, except for Ginny, going on and on about how they deserved more for their contributions in the war. They acted as if because they lost one of their sons, they deserved everything thrown at their feet. As if they had been the only ones to lose , they, like Ron, had cut ties from Hermione the second they heard about their relationship and had abandoned her as fast as Peter Pettigrew had cut off his own damn hand. And to make matters even worse, whatever minute levels of respect he had for the redheaded brood, went flying out his metaphoric window when they had done the same to their own daughter, Ginny. When the youngest Weasley had broken up with Potter, the family had acted as if the world had ended but then when she got involved with Blaise, it was as if Voldemort had been resurrected and the Weaslette had went and gotten the Dark Mark tattooed on her forearm. He couldn't see how a family such as themselves would openly disown their own child all because of her love for a certain pureblood aristocrat. They had been the ones spewing their gospels about loving and caring for one another during the war yet the second something displeased them, they acted as if they were Merlin themselves. Just because they had happened to be nearly eighty percent of the entire Order of the Phoenix, it didn't give them the right to decide who was good versus who was bad, or unworthy of Hermione and Ginny's love. They made him sick!

Slowly he exhaled as his eyes took in his awaiting wife. "If the Weasel is there," he huffed in annoyance, "then we will give Potter our best wishes and leave before the twat does anything foolish like he always does. I swear if he gets within an inch of you, I won't hesitate to hex him."

She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she lifted herself up from the stool and into his awaiting arms. "Don't let him get under your skin. I'm yours, not his." her lips planted themselves onto his as he hoisted her up on his chest, moving to wrap her legs around his waist in a manner that was entirely intimate to the two of them. Their lips grew into a passionate motion, with their tongues and lips tenderly caressing each others as he pulled her flush against body.

"That's right. You're mine," he growled into her, feeling his blinding lust take over his body. He needed her; needed to feel himself being surrounded by her, engulfed by her completely, and he needed it now.

He groaned into her mouth when she arched into him, locking her fingers through his hair. "D-Draco," she managed to say as they continued to smother each other in their kisses. "Bedroom….now."

He smirked against her mouth, gripping the bottom of her thighs, before he carried the two of them in the direction of their bed chamber and wandlessly shooting a locking charm on their door as it shut behind them.

Afterall, they didn't need Scor bursting through the door...again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He stayed silent as his mind registered what his mother and father were telling him. They would be leaving him tomorrow for someone's funeral, and his plans on visiting the new Emporium were ruined.

They were leaving him.

He was angry at whoever died, cursing them that they were stealing his parent's attention from him but he had hid his feelings well. His fists were clenched beneath the table, gripping tightly to the silver dinner knife handle in his hand but his face remained blank.

His mother was looking at him expectantly but he could see his father and grandpa in a strict hushed conversation. The older of the two looked like he was trying to conceal his anger but it was sparking off of him in waves that tingled his flesh from down the side of the table. Whatever they were talking about clearly didn't seem acceptable to his grandfather but it appeared that his father had already made the decision otherwise. He could only question exactly what they were saying before he flicked his gaze down to his dinner.

If they had to leave to this...funeral then there was nothing he could do to tell them otherwise. There mind was made up and they were going to be leaving, keeping him at home with his grandparents while they paid their respects. But there was just one problem- neither of them looked particularly sad. His father was understandable since he had never seen him display such an emotion but his mother...if someone important to them had died then surely she would appear to be upset. His mother always wore her heart on her sleeve and yet there was nothing, not even a small frown. Heck, he had seen her shed a tear for a small Bowtruckle. Perhaps it was an old colleague? No...that wouldn't explain his grandfather's expression. A reaction like that, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, was for an old foe… A foe of his grandfather yet a friend or someone important to his mother and father. Or...it was someone important to his mother and it left his father having no choice but to attend with her. That had to be it since nearly every one of his father's acquaintances had been introduced to him through his grandpa and the long line of pureblood aristocracy that he was associated with. So that only left one question: Who died?

"That's fine," he slowly lied after a long pause, pulling the silverware back up to the table to cut into the steak in front of him. "We can go the day after tomorrow," he grinned at her as best as his well-mannered self could.

His smile seemed to have pleased his mother enough to where she beamed at him until she turned her attention to the discussion of the two males at the head of the table. There was a small frown on her face but she didn't linger on the pair for long. Instead, she turned towards his grandmother and together the two tuned out their partners and divulged themselves into meaningless chatter, addressing him after every few sentences.

His dashing smile stayed in place, never faltering, but it contrasted dangerously with what he was feeling on the inside. There was a ticking, resembling those in the cheesy western muggle movies that he watched with his other grandfather, and it was as if he had swallowed a bomb and it was set to blow at any second.

He pressed his tongue against his teeth, craning his neck as he felt the familiar prickles climb up his spine. The ache was back, demanding that he take his frustrations out on the closest living creature that he could get his hands on. Absentmindedly his grip tightened on the knife once more before his silver eyes darted towards the double story windows. There was a black sparrow perched on the windowsill and its black beady eyes were staring at him; the feathered skull tilted to the side as if it were daunting him, begging him to put it out of its misery.

He would've done it if he hadn't been surrounded by his family. It would have been easy. He could've even used the knife clutched in his hand if he wanted to or could have caught it with his bare hands. It wouldn't have taken long for him to choke the life out of the avian and dispose of it in the dungeons. No one would've ever found it even as the familiar smell of death wafted from the deadly oubliette.

It would have rotted into the floor, turning into nothing more than an oily splatter with the bones fossilising for the years to come. The blood would have seeped into the air, absorbing into the stony walls as the sparrow's soul fought to get free.

He blinked.

As if the bird knew their interaction was over, it stretched its wings out and fluttered into the night, disappearing from his view and leaving him to wonder if it had a home to go to or if it had truly wanted him to end its pathetic life then and there.

But he had lost the chance, and now his anger reached the tipping point.

"Who is the funeral for?" he snapped, managing to keep the bite from his angelic voice.

All of the adults in the room turned their heads towards him in surprise to hear him interrupt the casual dinner conversation that borderlined routine at this point. He could see his grandmother's horrified expression at his ghastly manners but he chose to focus solely on his parents. "And why can't I go?"

"You aren't going," his father muttered into the crystallized glass in his hands without bringing his gaze up, shooting a quick glance from the corner of his eye at the older Malfoy.

"Why not?" he challenged. "This could be a good opportunity to meet new people. Grandpa always says it's good to make connections," he threw a sly glance towards the same individual that his father had moments before.

"There won't be any connections to make at this funeral," his father replied back more sternly than before. "And you will not be joining us."

"But Father-"

"No, Scor," his father's stormy gaze locked on him. "Please don't push this anymore. You are staying here and that is final."

He sunk into the expensive dining chair, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted the metallic tang splash against his tongue. His father always had been the more stricter parent and really, he had no idea why he hadn't just cornered his mother when she was apart from his father. She was the predictable one. She was soft. She was easily controllable when it came to him.

His back straightened as he acted as if he wasn't disappointed and like an expert, he twisted his facial expression into one of sadness. "That's fine, father. I was just hoping that it wasn't someone I knew. The thought of losing someone important was...hurting me and I just wanted to make sure."

He smothered his smirk before it presented itself, knowing that he had won the situation. He could feel his mother's caring eyes on him before he felt her grab his hand.

"Oh, sweetheart," her voice ushered to him softly. "It wasn't anyone you knew," she shared a look with his father before she swallowed. "I didn't even know her."

His ears peaked up at her slip of the tongue. So it was a female? He scrunched his brows in concentration, trying to recall if there had been any obituaries in the Daily Prophet that he had missed. He had usually taken deep interest in seeing who had finally passed across the Veil but he was coming up blank. In fact, he couldn't remember a death for the past few weeks.

Slowly he brought his eyes up to her. "Then who was it?"

This time it was his father that spoke up, clearing his throat uncomfortably at the topic at the dinner table. "It was Harry Potter's wife."

His eyes had widened on their own accord; his mask falling to the floor and banging loudly against the wooden boards that only his ears could hear.

Harry Potter. The legendary Chosen One that he had only read of but knew that he and his mother had been friends in their youth. It suddenly made perfect sense as to why his grandpa and father had held such a hostile expression. The name Potter had been a strange taboo now in the Wizarding World and he couldn't help but be curious to seeing his mother reunite with the man. She had been immensely close with him, being described as siblings except for that one article he had read that had described a spurious relationship between the two of them, but they had been inseparable. They had been members of the glorified Golden Trio.

This was interesting. Could the famous Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived be returning to the magical world?

He shot a glance at his father, noting how the vein in his strong jaw was throbbing slightly as his jaw clenched shut. Oh, he was bloody pissed. His father most definitely didn't want to go to this...funeral but he knew his father wasn't foolish enough to let his mother go alone. He didn't know what to make of this situation, only replying with a simply, "Oh."

What was he suppose to say? The four adults around him were split on their views of Harry Potter. His mother and grandma had praised the man's essence while the much stronger forces, his father and grandpa, hated every detail of the man. As he said before, his family was split and in such a way that made him choose his personal beliefs very carefully, taking bits from both sides and morphing his own opinions about the world. Being the only child (ever) to come from an ex-Death Eater and holy member of the Order of Phoenix had given him no choice otherwise. He had to stay polite no matter who he came into contact with- either his mother's friends, Neville and Luna Longbottom with their five year old daughter, or his father's friends, Theodore Nott with his two older sons, and Cassius Warrington. Then there were those families like his in a way, mainly Blaise and Ginny Zabini with their two sons and daughter on the way, and Michael Corner with his wife Pansy. However, their closest friends were the Zabini family. Uncle Blaise and his father were best mates, his mother and Aunt Ginny were inseparable, and Axel was the only person he called a friend. The two families spent more time together than not but he didn't mind.

But now Harry Potter was being thrown into the mix. Unlike the others, there was no line of equanimity. So how was he suppose to tread the situation?

"Will I be meeting Mr. Potter?" he asked cautiously, watching from his peripheral vision as his grandfather huffed heavily.

Again, he saw his mother glance hesitantly at his father.

"We will be there for the sole purpose of showing our respect," his father answered without missing a beat. "Other than that, I have no way of predicting what will happen afterwards."

He silently nodded his head, knowing not to push the subject any more than he had. As long as they returned home, alone, then that's all he cared about. Harry Potter could remain dead to the world as he had been and he wouldn't bat an eyelash.

He supposed he would enjoy the extra hunting time while his parents were gone unless he spent it with his grandfather going through their family heirlooms. He practically ached to feel the tinge of dark magic push against his flesh. Perhaps he could find something cursed that he could bestow on some random muggle child that he ran into at the park whenever they traveled to their manor in downtown London. That would definitely be a sight to see. He supposed he could wait but for how long? His hands practically trembled for something to hurt; something to watch squirm in misery.

He swallowed roughly, softly smiling at his mother. "I hope everything goes well then."

She seemed to appreciate the comment as her eyes sparkled back to life before she turned towards his father, saying something that he didn't pay attention to.

He was too busy cutting into his steak, concentrating on the feeling of the knife slicing into the meat, pushing deeper below the surface until he could hear the fine silverware scratch against his plate.

He wondered if the funeral was going to be open casket.


	4. Chapter 4

"Have you decided what you will be doing for the day?" he eyed his son through the large mirror as he fastened the cuffs on his suit jacket. Scor was behind him sitting in one of the leather day chairs that adorned their bedroom, idly swinging his legs but he was watching him intently, his mercury eyes staring into his own. He let out a small huff, one that reminded him entirely of Hermione, before he shrugged.

"Grandfather said we could go somewhere if I want," he muttered. "He said it's been awhile since he stopped by Borgin and Burkes but I figured I could just play here until you and mom get back."

Draco nodded his head. "We should be gone only for a few hours so we'll be back before you know it. If I had my way, which we both know I don't, we'd be there for an hour and I wouldn't have to even look at that- that…" He trailed off as he clenched his jaw at the thought of the blasted Chosen One. After all of these fucking years...He had been so sure that Potter was behind all of them and yet, here he was getting dressed to go offer his condolences. He wondered if it would be rude of him if he just stayed silent and let Hermione do all of the talking, that is if there was any talking to be done. He would be there solely to support his wife. That's it.

During his silent musings, Scorpius had gotten up from the chair and walked to stand in front of him, eyeing both of their reflections in the mirror. He eyed his son quietly, watching as Scor grasped onto his arm and tiptoed himself into the air by a few extra inches before dropping back down onto the heels of his feet. His replica tilted his head to the side, straightening his small shoulders as he looked up to catch his own gaze through the mirror.

"Dad…" Scor whispered, leaning into his side slightly as he turned from the mirror to look up at him. "Will I be like you one day?"

He was down at his son's side immediately, grabbing onto his shoulders as he leveled himself with Scor. Being as gentle as he ever could, he engulfed his son's face with his hands. There were times that he forgot how truly young his son was. Fatherhood had been something that he had never thought of when he had been younger but now, it was his reason for existence. It had been expected of him to have the next Malfoy heir but the moment Hermione had given birth it was as if his entire world had changed. He had been changed. His entire focus had been directed towards his son and everything he did was for the sole benefit of him. Everything he did now was watched by his son's eyes and meticulously learned from. Every move, every word, hell, even every breath could influence his son's young mind. He may have had a sketchy past but Scor wouldn't, that he would make sure of.

"You'll be better than I ever have been," he admitted with a soft grin, taking in the innocent features on Scor's face. "You will grow to be strong and tall and you will make your mother and I so proud. You will be the best Malfoy that has ever lived and Hogwarts won't know what hit them when you arrive."

Scor beamed up at him, wrapping his small arms around Draco in a hug. He mumbled something into his jacket that he couldn't quite hear but as just as he was about to ask, Hermione walked in and all coherent thought slipped from his mind. It never failed, that even after all these years, she could always steal his breath away with her entrance. She was stunning in a long sleeved black dress that rested mid thigh. The garment was simple in form that had an elegant v dip in the front which provided an appropriate amount of skin for the attention of others yet left him wanting nothing more than to ravish her on the spot. Her honey curls hair had been left free, tumbling gently down her back in soft waves - the way he loved best.

His son drifted from his own side and morphed into Hermione's, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying the side of his face into the soft fabric of her dress. With a mother's touch, she placed a kiss on the top of Scor's platinum locks as she returned the loving embrace.

"Mom," Scor smiled up at her. "Do you think one day i'll look just like Dad?"

She shot him a quick amused look before leaning down to press her lips to Scor's pale cheek. "Oh, I don't know," she whispered. "I happen to think you look far much more like me than your father but I suppose if I narrow my eyes, and tilt my head to the side slightly, I can make out a very subtle resemblance." Scorpius let out a small laugh before his head snapped towards the window. He turned slightly to watch his son become entranced by a black sparrow before Scor suddenly shot from their room, looking all too much like a snitch from his seeker years.

"I swear, it's as if I had no part in creating him," Hermione huffed, walking further into the room as she eyed her appearance in the mirror behind him. "Every child is supposed to inherit something from their mother yet my one and only son is the spitting image of his father."

He slowly crossed the small space between, holding her gaze through their reflection. "I happen to beg a differ," he said, kissing the side of her neck as he encircled his arms around her waist from behind. "He may not have your hair or your eyes but he definitely has your stubborn nature. The way he rolls his eyes - a nauseating habit of yours," he smirked into her skin. "Those ever delightful times when he purposefully goes against our word and does whatever the hell he wishes-"

She turned around in his hold, looking at him with raised brows. "I believe he learned that entirely from you. I would never do such a thing. As you always say, I was the Gryffindor Princess and such acts do not become of me."

This time it was his turn to raise his brows. "Oh really?" he challenged her. "It must have been the other female member of the Golden Trio. You know, the one who broke into my Godfather's supply room to brew a Polyjuice Potion during her second year to break into the Slytherin common room. Or even the time when the same girl captured and imprisoned a highly respected reporter that just happened to be an unregistered animagus."

She smirked at him, slowly leaning further and further into his body. "Hmm, you think she was highly respected? That's ironic because I happen to know another individual that threatened the woman so badly she has yet to rewrite another blasphemous article. I think I did the woman justice and it wasn't as if she was innocent. She should consider herself lucky that I hadn't reported her."

"Oh so that was you?" he quirked his lips at her, getting lost in her honey orbitals as they swallowed him whole.

"Well that depends," she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do you happen to know another girl that was deemed the Brightest Witch of our age?"

He lowered his head, only an inch remaining between their lips. Her soft breaths were tickling the skin along his neck but he wanted more; he needed more. And as much as his body cried for it, he knew that Hermione wouldn't give in. He would have to wait, and Merlin knew that Malfoy's, by all standards, didn't know how to wait. Not even for a damn funeral. Would it be that disastrous if he forced them to stay here? He could seal off the wards and not a living soul would be able to get on or off their property. Would she forgive him of that? Would she forgive him for stealing her chance to reunite with Potter?

He leaned himself into her slender form, molding to her in a way that was entirely familiar, bringing relief to him in the truest form that could only be achieved by her.

She was here with him, not Potter.

She was married to him, not Potter.

She had given birth to his son, not Potter's.

There was just so much doubt - was that what he was feeling? Was this fear? Intimidation? - that Potter wouldn't try something. He didn't care if the two shared a few words with each other but how far was it going to go? The damn Chosen One had been Hermione's best friend until the day he had changed Hermione Granger into Hermione Malfoy. He could still remember how he would watch from the Slytherin table as the trio hugged each other, always touching in a display of affection that had churned his stomach in jealousy. Those were the days when he was nothing more than a spoilt git to her. Could there, even for the briefest of moments, be any regret on her part for agreeing to become his wife? He was no Saint. He had killed people, innocent people - husbands, wives, and children - when he had no choice, following every order that the Dark Lord had given him. He had never stood up against Voldemort, had never ran off to join some precious Order. The only good thing that he had ever done was gain the courage to apologize to Hermione for being the relentless arse in school and that was it. How he had ever managed to win her heart was beyond him but now that he had her, as his own, he wasn't going to let go. He wasn't going to share; not with Potter. Not with anyone.

She seemed to have understood what he was thinking - he could see it in the way she looked up at him. "You're mine, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into the crook of his neck. "Always, and forever." She closed the hair-width space between them and softly locked their lips together.

It was a promise.

It was their love for one another.

After a few moments of their blissful quiet together, she reluctantly pulled back from the confinements of his hold. "Are you ready to go?" she gazed at him questionably.

He sighed, letting his arms drop to firmly take hold of her hands.

Here went nothing.

 

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

The second his parents were gone, he knew. He had felt the change in the wards; the emptiness that their departure had bestowed upon their beloved home. He liked to call it a son's instinct, something that his father had said made perfect sense. But now, that left him alone. And for hours on end. Time was a dangerous thing when one was left alone. Especially when that someone was him. The possibilities were endless, shooting through his young mind at a thousand miles per second.

What to do, what to do?

His grey eyes scanned the green horizon from beyond his bedroom chamber. That damn bird had taunted him again. It had laughed at him right in front of his face. It's beady little eyes had mocked him, it made a fool of him!

He gritted his teeth, knowing the sparrow was fluttering somewhere on the manor grounds, just out of his reach. Always out of his reach. He was still too small, too young, to be taken seriously by other lifeforms. He couldn't wait till the day he mirrored his father, stretching into the sky with muscles bulging beneath pale skin. It would happen eventually, but he wanted it now. He wanted to be strong and tall-

His brows furrowed. He may not be the man his father was but he was strong on his own accord. He had proven it time and time again with each creature he ended, with each bone he broke beneath his hands. He was strong.

The grip he had on the wand in his hand tightened, so devastatingly powerful that if it wasn't an unregistered one, he would have been afraid it may snap. Living in a manor that's dungeons had been used frequently in a war gave him easy access to hundreds, if not thousands, of wands that had been confiscated. It had been his grandfather that had shown him their prized collection and he had never breathed a word of it to his mother. He didn't dare. Not that it was a secret because if she really wanted to, she could have easily checked the lower levels near the dungeons that held many...unexpected surprises. Every time he ventured down into the darkness, there was always something new, something fun, that he just happened to come across. Just last week he had found an entire hand cast directly from stainless silver. It was an odd finding but it was quite fascinating as well, currently glistening in his window sill as the sunlight reflected off of its metallic surface.

He hated just sitting there, though. He wished that his parents had taken him to that blasted funeral because that would have been an interesting event to see. The renowned Harry Potter, mourning the death of his wife. He wondered how bright the Chosen One's emerald eyes would glisten as the tears washed down his face in little streams. He wondered how the wife had managed to do something so mortal; had she killed herself or had she become the victim of a deadly sickness? Had she been in pain or swept peacefully in her sleep? Had she begged for her life? Had she greeted Death like an old friend or gone down cursing in his face?

Had she bled? Had Potter watched the life slip from her eyes? Had he-

A knock at his door caused him to turn around rapidly, grabbing the silver hand from the window sill and throwing it under his bed. It would have to do for now.

He smoothed down his platinum locks that had been tussled in his hasty actions before he called for the person to enter.

His grandfather walked in with an arrogant stride, his black robes flourishing behind him. At the elder Malfoy's position near the entrance, he raised a curious brow. His grandfather was dressed as if he were about to leave with his signature cane clasped in his gloved hands. "Come, Scor," his grandfather tilted his head towards the door behind them. "We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" he questioned aloud although he moved to grab his jumper from his wardrobe. He had learned long ago to not ignore his grandfather's commands. The man was not someone that leisured around. His actions held purpose and he never simply wasted his time. Lucius Malfoy was a very, very busy man. With what, he didn't entirely know. He knew his grandfather had signed over the family company to his father years before he had been born so really, there was no telling what the man did with his time. But his grandfather was always on the move; visiting old friends, making shady business deals that his father knew about but didn't care to mention, and he always received packages upon packages that arrived in all shapes and sizes. The man was quite the mystery.

His grandfather grinned at him. "First we're going to Gringotts, then we'll be heading to Borgin and Burkes. He has informed me that he's received new merchandise that he's quite positive you will enjoy." Instantly the blood underneath his skin started to rush in excitement. He loved going to Knockturn Alley especially when his grandfather was there. The man thoroughly spoiled him and it was as if both of them marveled at the new 'toys' they got their hands on. The more the merrier, he supposed. They had an entire room that was filled with their collections from numerous different stores, many of them lingering towards being dark heirlooms if not being actual cursed objects. He was positive that it was his family alone that kept Borgin's in business, and it felt good to see the man throw himself at their feet every time they walked through the front door. It made him feel superior, watching the man beg for their galleons.

He supposed it would be healthy for him to get out of the house. He did need to get his mind preoccupied on other things so that he could forget about that stupid black sparrow. Perhaps he could find a trap for it. Surely Borgin had to have one.

Or maybe he just needed to get creative.

His mother always did say he had a superb imagination.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New character in 3...2...1

Chapter 5:

(Albus Potter POV)

Pain.

It's as if his days were driven by it now, blurring into each other that left him in a daze and questioning himself daily if his reality was now how he was supposed to live his life. Was he supposed to carry on like this - with the pain that followed him around like a shadow, clawing at his skin with every picture he passed or every memory of her that slipped into his skull? Was he supposed to forget her and move on with his life hoping that it would simply get easier as time went on? It's what his Aunt Elizabeth had said. It's what everyone had told him the day his mother was lowered into the ground. Each person that would come up to him with sorrow on their faces, patting him on the shoulder before they softly leaned into his side in a gesture that he supposed was to bring him comfort and whispered, "It'll get better." But how? How was it going to get better? He was motherless...and only a boy. A boy needed his mother; needed her love as he grew up, and for her tender soul to morph into his own and sculpt him into adulthood. But now...his mother was gone. She had slipped into death after months of pain, of sadness every time the doctors hooked her up onto more machines pumping her systems with various drugs just so that she could live a while longer. He had promised her that he wouldn't let her die, had gripped her hand so tightly as he eyed her extremely pale features as her soulless eyes stared at him, but he had lied. He hadn't meant to fib with something so great, but he had, and now his mother was gone. She had torn a part of his chest out and now he was a hollow shell, lifelessly watching the animated show on the television that had been running nonstop since the day she was buried. The house felt empty. Everything, he supposed, was empty now. And quiet. Too quiet to the point where the ringing in his ears would haunt him for hours on end. There was no crying anymore, or laughter, or conversations drifting from the rooms - it was empty. It made him miss Lily, his infant sister, that he had once thought was annoying with her endless fussing and cooing but now that Aunt Elizabeth had taken her for the time being, it made him realize that perhaps he needed her just as he needed his mother and father. Unlike his mother, however, his father was alive and well but it had been hours since he had seen him. It felt like days, really. Perhaps even weeks. Being eleven years old, he supposed his father thought he was old enough to support himself for hours on end, only needing him when he needed to eat but Albus couldn't find the heart to tell his father he was wrong. He hated seeing his father disappear behind the study doors from dusk till dawn, idly carrying a whiskey bottle as if he wouldn't catch a glimpse of it, which he desperately tried not to. The tower of pizza boxes that Albus had angled to block his vision of the study entrance was nearly almost done, only needing a few more that he would more than likely get by tomorrow. He couldn't even remember the last time he had a home cooked meal since the day of the funeral. The fridge was still loaded from top to bottom with the leftovers, he just couldn't stand the taste of microwaved food and the thought of eating the same meal from his mother's funeral left him feeling queasy. Pizza, seemed to fill the void. It seemed that he was going to need to fill lots of voids now.

He turned his head to the left, breaking his fable attention on the screen as he eyed the last picture his family had ever taken together. Lily had just been born so his mother was a healthy pink color and her hair and eyes were full of life that none of them realized was coming to an end. His father was smiling happily into the camera, one arm wrapped happily around his mother with Lily in her arms and then there was him...standing beside her with one hand on her shoulder and his father's hand on his. They looked like the perfect family...the happy family that were supposed to have more memories to come, more days to live through and more holidays to cherish. This wasn't supposed to happen to them but he supposed cancer was never supposed to happen to anyone...it just did and sucked out every happy memory he ever had. A boy his age wasn't supposed to spend his days glued to a couch and watching tv and downing pizza box after pizza box on a daily basis but what else was he supposed to do? What else could he do besides wallow in the pity that had enclosed around his house and soul? He glanced down at the clothes that adorned his body - his worn jeans and maroon t-shirt - and practically grimaced as he couldn't remember the last time he had worn something different. Was this day four? Five? How long had it been since he had seen his mother's face? These were the clothes that he had thrown on his body the second the last guests of the funeral had left. He slept in them, ate in them, cried in them to the point where his attire was starting to feel sticky on the surface of his skin. Had his father even noticed?

Albus sighed loudly, eyeing the door to see if his father would react. Several seconds ticked by and yet, nothing. He couldn't hear anything from beyond the study door that signaled he had caught his father's attention. With another sigh, he picked himself up from the couch, stretching out his limbs as the blood started to flow back to normal pressures. He was lightheaded as he took a step forward, reaching out to turn the television off. The quiet that followed was disturbing once more. The familiar ringing lodged itself back into his eardrums as he listened for even the slightest sound to break the silence. He prayed that it would stop. He was tired of living this day to day nightmare that left the ache in his bones screaming at him that he was broken; him and his family. How had this happened to him? How could his mother have left him? The familiar mist started to cloud over his eyes, shielding him from the cruel remnant of his house. He was tired of crying. It was a wonder to him how much more crying he could possibly have left, knowing that sooner or later the tears would need to run out. They had to or else he feared his face might have permanent streaks leaking from his orbitals.

He closed his eyes trying to imagine his mother in front of him, holding his face between her gentle hands as she whipped away his tears. But just as he did close them, he snapped them open. The image of his mother on her deathbed was still too fresh in his mind for any other possible thought. Her long, wavy brown hair had been just started to grow back, which he had mistakenly took as a good sign, but her eyes was what haunted him still, what plagued him in his nightmares. The blue in her iris' had died out by then, and in their place were lifeless flickers that would only open a few hours of the day. It was as if she had always known her fate even when the doctors had reassured them there was a possibility of her survival. The last week was when everything had gone downhill, so fast that he hadn't had time to blink as he watched her deteriorate before his very eyes. Any last shade that managed to stick to her cheeks had vanished to the point where even her lips where the same color as her pale neck. Her strength had became nonexistent and him and Lily had only been allowed to see her for an hour a day. But it didn't stop him from seeing her fight to continue living. She would hide her winces as best she could when she would sit up, and she would make a substantial effort on taking multiple bits of food when he was in her presence, even when he knew that her body would throw them up as soon as he left. Even in the last few hours of her life, she had held onto his small hands, smiling softly at him and using the last of her energy just so that she could talk to him. "I will always be with you Albus," she had whispered to him in a voice that barely reached his ears. "Know that I will always love you and even when you think I'm not there, I will be. I will never leave you, remember that."

He sniffled, rubbing his hand under his nose as the tears started to freely flow. It seemed just like yesterday when she was in front of him but now, she was just a memory. However, her last words to him were ringing loudly in his ear. I will never leave you. He inhaled sharply, eyeing the walls around him closely, looking for any shadow or glint that didn't belong. Was his mother here with him at this very moment? He had always been told of the afterlife but his young mind had never pushed the concept because he never had to. Now, however, he wished he could see something, anything, even if only the briefest sign to show that his mother had kept her promise. What he wouldn't give for just one more moment to see her, talk to her and tell her that he needed her here by his side. He needed her to fix their family, the one that's foundation was starting to crumble. He could do nothing but watch as piece by piece of his old life went falling lifelessly to the ground, disappearing before his very eyes. He could try and reassemble the pieces but they would only dissolve between his fingers and laugh in his ears at how pathetic his life was going to be now. A boy needed his mother.

He shot one last glance towards the study door before he turned to head towards his bedroom. He wasn't sure what he was going to do but his body ached from being on the couch. He didn't even know when he would want to look at the wallpaper in the living room again. That's how bad it had gotten. But he tried to hold his head up high as he treaded down the short hallway, in case, by some miracle, his mother truly was watching him sulk. He could picture her scolding him for not taking better care of himself or even his father but what did she expect, really? Afterall, she was the one that left them.

As he passed the door of the study, he debated if he should open the door and demand his father's attention. He was just scared on what he would find. Too afraid to see the extent of the depression had befallen him. So, as cowardly as it was, he continued to walk on. He didn't let his gaze fall from his destination - the large frame of his bedroom - and didn't let his eyes wander onto the numerous frames that lined the walls. Those memories didn't seem like they belonged to him anymore so it was pointless to reminisce. Once he stood in front of his door, he let his forehead drop silently onto the wood. Another day had come and gone and yet he was still as empty as the day his mother had died. When was it going to stop like what Aunt Elizabeth and the others had said? He had hoped for days, or perhaps weeks, just not the possibility of it taking months or even years. This desperation didn't belong on such a young child as himself. He needed to be out in the world; running, and playing, and laughing as the days consumed him. He longed for it.

Albus sighed heavily to himself once more. It was useless to waste his time on such thoughts. Completely useless, he thought to himself. He rolled his shoulders to let out all the knots that had trapped themselves between his muscles and reached down to grab ahold of his doorknob. With a simple twist he began to press his arm forward when suddenly -

Knock, knock, knock.

He froze, peering over his shoulder to look at the front door. He could make out a figure through the frosted glass panel in the middle but he hadn't been aware that they were expecting company. Since the funeral, no one had dared visit them as if the plague of death and darkness would befall upon them. Their house was avoided now so whoever was at their door was either here to pay their respects or they simply hadn't known, which was odd because everyone he had ever known was at his mother's funeral. They had offered up their condolences and left, so who was at the door? He waited silently for his father to exit the study, but strangely, it remained shut and no sound could be heard.

Albus huffed, eying the shadow as it stayed standing beyond the front door. His green eyes flickered back and forth between the study door and the front one, waiting. For what, he wasn't particularly sure. Perhaps for his father to answer it or for the person to simply walk away. So he waited.

He cocked his head to the side as the shadow appeared to raise its hand as if to knock again, before it went back down to its side. His eyes narrowed, finally starting to register that the shadow seemed...familiar and that he didn't necessarily feel fear while looking at it. He took a step closer. It was a figure of a women, that he could tell. As he got closer he could make out long hair that tumbled past a pair slim shoulders. Definitely female, he thought to himself. The shadow had its head turned as if it was looking at something behind itself but from his view, he couldn't see anything.

Another step closer. He could make out that the figure was in a dress; nothing too long or too short and that it was form fitting. The body was slender, petite as his mother had been - He froze, his eyes widening in shock. Could that be…

He rushed the last steps between himself and the front door and stayed watching it, his eyes taking in the curve of the shadow, the hair, the movements...it had to be her! His mother had kept his promise! She had come back.

There was too much excitement and joy racing through his veins to stop and think about who he could possibly allowing entrance. He was just so sure it was her. He could already feel the smile beginning to bloom on his face. Without a second thought, Albus reached down and pulled the door open.

"Mo-"

The sunlight was blinding at first, crashing into him as a brutal reminder of how long it had been since he had gone outside. He had to squint in the blinding light, desperately trying to focus on the shadowed figure in front of him as the harsh light behind her blackened her form. But eventually, he regained his vision and when he did, he couldn't help but become speechless. He had been right about the shadow being a woman, but it wasn't his mother. She was beautiful, standing in front of him with the sun surrounding her frame with a heavenly glow, the hair around her face brightening up like a halo that brought out her warm brown eyes and curly hair in an ethereal way. He was speechless...frozen on the spot as his eyes bored into her own. She was looking down at him gently, but he could see the apprehension in her gaze as it wandered behind him, as if she had been expecting someone else. However, she didn't let it linger and instead focused back down on him, making him feel warm and at ease, which he hadn't felt since his mother had left.

"Hello," her voice was soft just as her features; comforting and kind. Her eyes were skimming across his face, a smile slowly forming on her lips as she took him in. He couldn't possibly look decent but it appeared to not matter to her as she looked him up from head to toe with an expression on her face that resembled pure adoration. "You must be Albus," she smiled at him. She had a really pretty smile, one that brightened her face even more. "My name is Hermione -" He had crashed into her, shocking even himself, but nothing stopped him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and buried his head in her chest. He held on for dear life, closing his eyes as he felt her arms wrap around him in return. He could feel her fingers softly rake through his wild black locks and with a start, he was aware of the tears that started to form in his eyes. He had needed this. Badly. So, so, so badly. And it was as if the woman - Hermione - had known it as she returned his wild embrace. If it had been anyone else at the door, he knew he wouldn't have thrown himself at them, but he knew who this woman was. He may have never met her in person, but he knew exactly who she was. He had heard of her name numerous years prior, a figure that his father would talk endlessly about from his childhood. She was part of his family, as his father had told him, and every time he had asked why she wasn't here, with them, his father would shut down and change the subject. However, the stories his father would tell left Albus longing to meet her and now the day had finally come.

Slowly, she had leaned into him, bringing her shoulders in and enclosing around him gently, yet strong enough to provide him the comfort he so desperately needed. She had let her cheek rest on the top of head, whispering soft words of comfort as she kept her hold on him but really, he wasn't letting her go; his arms were wrapped around her like a body bind and kept her rooted in her spot.

"Albus, where is your father?" she said after a handful of long, slow minutes. She was leaning away from him now, softly prying herself out of his arms and it was only then that he realized one of her hands was grabbing onto someone else's arm, someone that was standing close to her side and watching her face impeccably. Albus let go of her then, eyeing the man to her side warily. He didn't appear to be as warm as Hermione did, and it was something about the way the man hovered near Hermione, did Albus realize that the two must have been married. He recognized the look on the man's face as he stared at Hermione - it was the same ones his mother would give his father. The two were most definitely together. Strange, he thought to himself as he couldn't remember his father ever telling him that Hermione had gotten married.

"Albus," Hermione's voice called out to him again, trying to recapture his attention. She followed his line of sight as he watched her hands clasp onto the man by her side. "Albus, this is my husband, Draco." The blonde man, Draco, gave him a tight nod in exchange. He didn't have to tamper down his urge to engulf the man in a hug, because the need wasn't there as it bad been for Hermione. He wasn't even looking at him, instead, the man's silver eyes were flickering around, looking for something Albus didn't know. One of his hands, the one not on Hermione, was clenched tightly around something but his pale fingers didn't let Albus get a glimpse of what it was. Albus watched as the man's brows furrowed slightly and felt his chest contact as he realized Draco was staring back at him, before he looked away and settled his gaze back on Hermione.

"We're here to speak to your father, Albus," Hermione said to him. "Is there anyone else here?"

He shook his head before his mouth could cooperate. "No," his voice felt scratchy from being dormant for so long. "It's just me and my dad."

"So he lied," Draco mumbled softly towards Hermione. She glanced at him briefly, a mix of agreement and agitation, before she bit into her bottom lip. Her gaze was troubled but the determined look in her eyes told Albus that she wasn't going to simply walk away as he feared. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to bring her inside and let her fill the walls with life again, dashing the color and happiness back into his life that he had been deprived of for the last few days.

"Well," Hermione slowly started again,"do you think you could go get him? I'm certain he'll want to see us since he's the one who sent the owl-"

"An owl?" Albus blurted out in confusion. "We don't have an owl. My...mom...didn't allow pets, she had really bad allergies...but my father doesn't have a bird."

Hermione turned her head slightly to share a questioning look with her husband. Whatever was troubling them remained a mystery to his young mind but it didn't calm his suspicion of the two. Albus narrowed his eyes at the pair, finally taking in their appearances. The two weren't casually dressed, or maybe they were and the two of them were insanely rich like the celebrity families on the news, but he was certain he had never seen either of their faces before. And he would have definitely remembered a celebrity named Hermione, even Draco had a unique ring to it. They were...odd, in a sense. Ethereal in a way. There was something radiating from the both of them that was practically shouting that they weren't normal in any way.

Casting them one last look of confusion, he shrugged, turning around to retrieve his father as Hermione asked. It wouldn't do well to keep them lingering from the looks on Draco's face. The man looked as if he was in pain from being here and it could only make Albus wonder if his father and Draco were friends. No, he thought to himself, otherwise his father would have surely told him about the man as he had Hermione. He didn't let the thought bother him, and turned on his heel to walk to the door of the family study. He hadn't bothered to close the front door, thinking that they would follow him in, but they didn't. They hovered near the door with Draco feverently whispering into Hermione's ear and still tightly clutching something in his hand. Albus could feel the weight of their eyes as their gazes followed him down the hall and he could only pray that his father would come to his rescue. He felt too outnumbered; felt that Draco and Hermione knew something he didn't and it made him squirm under their scrutiny. Now he wished he had at least taken a shower and thrown on a clean pair of clothes. He felt like a peasant compared to those two.

Albus swallowed down his emotions as he knocked lightly on the study door, expecting to only have to wait for a few seconds until his father emerged and relieved him of his hosting duty. He would love it actually, if he got the opportunity to sneak off and freshen himself up a bit. However, long, quiet seconds eventually turned into a minute and then two. His brows furrowed before he lifted up his hand to knock again, harder this time than before.

"Dad, Hermione and Draco are here to speak with you," he was once more met with deafening silence.

"Dad!" he was nearly pounding his fists on the door frame. He was beginning to grow frustrated. Although this had been the routine now for the past few days, it left Albus alone with the two new individuals. Even though he didn't mind it, he hated how alone it made him seem, because the others were getting a glimpse into his new life that he didn't want to be seem. He didn't want people to know about his isolation, about the quietness of his family home, because it was still so odd to him. He wanted to adapt properly to this new routine before anyone else could readjust it any further. But his windows were wide open, the curtains were drawn all the way back and the bright lights were on, allowing the entire world a front row seat to his life. He bit on the inside of his cheek, barely constraining himself from kicking the blasted door down. Albus took a deep, shaky breath before turning back towards the two at the door. "He may have decided to, er, take a nap. He's been awfully tired lately." It was an utter lie on his part, but he didn't know what else to say. His father was obviously ignoring him and the announcement of Hermione's arrival but it wasn't as if Albus could say that to the guests. His mother had given him the basic lessons of hospitality and just because she was gone now, didn't mean that he was just going to let them fly out of his mind. He just continued to stare at them helplessly, not knowing exactly what to do from here.

Hermione, however, seemed to grow antsy just as he was. She sighed impatiently, striding through the threshold as if she owned the house and marched straight up to his side. The hard clicks of her heels against the floorboards instantly brought flashbacks of his mother when she would dress for special occasions but he quickly forced himself to think happier thoughts. Move forward. He watched her with wide eyes when she barged up to the door and pressed her ear against the door. He was vaguely aware that Draco had moved into the hall as well, but he hadn't moved closer towards the study as Hermione did. This only solidified that Draco and his father were most definitely not friends, or at least as close as Hermione and his father had been, or were, for all he knew.

Hermione's brows were furrowed slightly as she listened. She looked so intent that Albus had even stopped the sounds of his breathing so that she could fully hear whatever she was listening to. Almost as quickly as she had began, she stopped and frowned. "He put a silencing charm up," she said as she turned her head to look at her husband from over her shoulder.

The blonde man scoffed in disbelief. "While his son is home? What a fuc-"

"Draco!" Hermione cut him off with a stern look, her eyes briefly flickering in Albus' direction.

"You're telling me you're okay with this?" he shot back at her incredulously. "Something could've happened and Potter wouldn't have even known. There weren't even wards on this property. I mean, I may not have been in the Gryffindor Trio," he sneered, "but I know that even for Potter that's a new low. It's his son and from the looks of it, Potter has locked himself in there for days."

"Days?" Hermione repeated with raised brows. "What makes you think-" Her voice trailed off as her husband's attentioned moved to Albus' towering display of pizza boxes. Her warm eyes rounded on him instantly, gently looking at him with such sadness that he swore his heart would burst. "Albus," her voice dropped down to a soft whisper. "When's the last time you had a proper meal?"

Funny, he thought to himself. He had wondered that too moments before the two had arrived. And the truth was, he didn't really know so instead of lying to her, he simply shrugged.

He instantly regretted it though, and wished that he had just lied so that he wouldn't have to see that look on her face. It was a mixture of things - pity, sorrow, anger, empathy - and it was all directed at him. It was almost enough to make him break, to send in him shock from dealing with another human being's emotions since he hadn't seen anything but sadness in so long.

"This is unbelievable," Hermione whispered to herself. She reached into the sleeve of her dress and pulled out a stick, grasping her fingers around it as she huffed impatiently. There was a rosy blush of anger painted on her cheeks but Albus couldn't help himself from staring at her and admiring how...alive she looked, how her features were brightened even further by the flurry of emotion on her face. It was nearly enough to distract him from the stick in her hand, but not enough. His brows were furrowed deeply as his eyes stared at her hand, wondering why on earth she would carry such a thing inside the sleeve of her dress. Perhaps this woman was much, much, stranger than he originally thought and that concerned him. He was about to simply turn the other way and ignore how mad the woman appeared until words were suddenly slipping through her lips. He couldn't make out what she had whispered but he watched with wide eyes as a flutter of light formed from the tip and flew into the air. The light blue flurry of light swirled into the air and in its mist, a small four legged creature was formed. The otter bumbled lightly around Hermione, nuzzling against her shoulder briefly before it leapt in the direction of the study and disappeared beyond its doors.

His mouth, on its own accord, was hung wide open; caught between shock and disbelief that he had just seen what he had saw. He was at a loss of words, eyeing the door where the creature had disappeared. The two adults were too caught up in each other to notice his astonishment but he could hardly contain his ecstatic. For so long he had thought he was simply odd, having the ability to move objects with his mind at random moments and even the time he had accidentally set his hair on fire. He had never dared to mention the events to his parents for fear of their rejection but now, Hermione was showing him that he wasn't as alone as he thought. He could feel his insides start to flourish in the hopes at understanding what his abilities were, knowing that perhaps Hermione was here for him soley. Maybe his father had somehow known about his abilities and had urged Hermione to come so she could teach him. But just how many more individuals were like him - them? He shot a look over towards Draco, who was watching the study door quite intently, and looked down towards his hands. As before, one hand was grasping something hidden from Albus' view but now he knew, without a doubt, that he was carrying a stick just like Hermione had. Was he going to get one too? Were they going to teach him how to make his own animal?

"What was that?!" Albus practically screeched, having failed to have silenced his astonishment. Both Hermione and Draco's head swirled in his direction, eyeing him in confusion as he bubbled in excitement. It was the first time in a while since he had felt the blood pumping underneath his skin but now it was in full force. "How - when can you teach me? Do I get a stick too?"

Hermione's confusion melted away as she took a step in his direction, her eyes gently narrowing on him. From her side, Draco was watching him in bewilderment as if he was the strangest thing he had ever seen. His attention moved back to Hermione, however, as she took a step in his direction. "You don't know," she mumbled to herself. "You...don't know? Albus - "

The words died in her throat as the study door burst open and his father pushed his way through. Hermione had straightened herself up instantly, taking a step away from Albus to be back at her husband's side. He watched as Hermione and his father stared at each other, their eyes boring into each other as he physically recoiled from the tension in the room. His father had been the one to break the thick silence, clearing his throat awkwardly as he nodded towards her. His gaze briefly drifted towards Draco but he made no move to greet him as he did for Hermione, nor did Draco. In fact, there was a minute level of hostility that Albus could see radiating between the two males. Draco's silver eyes were a storm of emotions that Albus couldn't really place but there was no kindness, that he knew.

"Hermione," his father said with a faint grin in her direction. It looked as if he was going to take a step forward, reaching his hand out but then thought better of it and pulled it back to his side.

The corner of Hermione's lips twitched. "Harry."

Neither one of them moved, only continued to stare at each other as if time was endless.

"It's been a long time," his father rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't know you were going to show up - either of you," his gaze slid back to Draco briefly. "I assumed you wouldn't've since you hadn't sent an owl and well, since it's been a decade. I didn't know if you had any personal matters or, er, if you would have even wanted to."

"Harry, you lied to us," Hermione deadpanned. "Do you realize that puts you in a situation that easily makes us not believe a word you say?"

"Can we take this into the study, please" his father pleaded with them as he shot Albus a pointed look. Hermione seemed to understand what he was asking for and she complied with an abrupt nod of her head, but not before she grasped onto Draco's hand to pull him with her.

His father huffed as they entered the study. He looked defeated in a way; with his black hair sticking in every which way and the heavy shadows under his vivid eyes. Somehow his father had changed since this morning so instead of his pajamas, he was now in a pair of trousers and a flannel shirt. Albus didn't know how he had managed to change from within the study, but his father had. It was like...magic, really.

He stared at his father expectantly, anticipating for a conversation they hadn't had in days. He tried to smile at him, to tell him that he was okay, but his father was already on taking off in the direction of the study once more.

"Dad!" he cried out in desperation, cringing at the raw tone of his voice. His father whirled around, looking at him impatiently.

"Yes?"

Albus deflated. The tongue in his mouth suddenly felt too thick to function properly, leaving him devoid of the ability to speak.

"Nothing," he whispered with a shake of his head. "It can wait."

His father eyed him one last time, his stare lingering on Albus' face. "Everything will get better from here," he urged. "They're going to help us, son. I know it. It'll start getting better, I promise."

Albus wanted to believe his father. He wanted to have faith that Hermione was going to save the day but the dark shadows of doubt were plaguing his mind. All he could do was nod his head as he watched his father join the other two and shut him off. He wondered how long it would be this time.


	6. Chapter 6

(Scorpius POV)

He blinked, staring so intently at his mother to see if she would falter; to crack that hopeful exterior she had put up so well knowing that he didn't like what she had said. His father was leaning against the wall, twirling a glass tumbler in his palm as his head stayed down, mesmerized by the fluidity of the liquid. It was as if his father too knew how ridiculous this was. Surely this was just a joke, simply a test to see if perhaps he would want a sibling now after all. Either he was starting to disappoint them with his answer and his parents were ready for child number two, or, there was no double meaning to his mother's words and there really was a boy coming to be his new...friend. He hid his repulsion at her words but he hadn't missed the sharp scoff come from his father. His parents had left for a stupid funeral and they brought back a preposterous idea that he needed another...friend. He had plenty as it was so he certainly didn't need another. Axel was tolerable, the Nott brothers tended to grate on his nerves, and Talon simply gave him a headache but adding another into the mix was surely going to leave him spilling over the edge - tumbling down the steep mountainside of his shields as he expanded it to allow another in. It was going to be dangerous...there was no telling how strong his temperance would hold as his tolerance splintered into deep cracks. But really, what were they asking of him?

"Sweetheart," his mother reached out to grab ahold of his hand, smothering it in her own. "Don't you want another person to play with for a while? He'll only be here for two weeks and he's the same age as you. It'll be fun, don't you think?"

Ah, so no sibling. His mother really had just been talking about another acquaintance after all. It was like a giant breath of utter relief. But his calm didnt get to last too long.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he darted a look towards his father. His father was staying uncharacteristically quiet, which was a very troubling thing. Draco Malfoy was never one to stay silent on matters and he always spoke his mind, never shying away from speaking his true mind no matter how brutal it was for others. However, he was quick to focus back on his mother as his father proved to be no help. That only signaled to him that his mother was the one in charge at the moment, which in itself was a rare occurrence. He stared at her hand as it held onto his own and relaxed into the headboard of his bed. Did he tell the truth on how he really felt about the matter or did he need to lie and pretend it wouldn't bother him? He was definitely in no mood to have to deal with some imbecile, knowing that underneath his bed, the magic trap that he had acquired from Borgin & Burkes was practically screaming at him to be properly used. He had planned to put it in good use for the next few days but it seemed fate had decided otherwise. He just didn't know if he could physically restrain himself. That would definitely be a problem.

Scorpius tilted his head to the side, eyeing his mother in what he hoped was passable for sincere contemplation. "What if I don't have fun? What if I don't like him or he doesn't like me? You know I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

His mother shook her head, smiling softly at him. "Of course you are," she leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. "You two will get along perfectly -" her eyes flickered briefly towards his father "- and if not, then you'll simply get used to each other. Two weeks is plenty of time for that."

He wanted to throw something and watch it break into hundreds of tiny pieces as it collided with the wall. He wanted to scream and kick out like a spoiled child, thrashing around in his bed as if he were having a seizure. He wanted to wreck havok and track down this boy...Albus...and put his head through a spike so that he wouldn't have to attend this damn playdate that would last for two fucking weeks. Scorpius could hardly handle weekend sleepovers with Axel and that was his best mate. Like he said before, he wasn't the easiest person to get along with.

"Just because you're used to something, doesn't mean you'll like it," he shot back at her, enjoying the way her gaze agreed with him even if she didn't want to verbalise it. His mother really needed to work on hiding her emotions as his father had taught him. It made her too vulnerable and predictable for someone - him - to take advantage of. But he didn't want to cause her any trouble. He had already accepted his fate once the words had left her mouth, and if that meant he had to comply, then he would be the good son that he had been raised to be. "However," he squeezed her hand, "I'll be more than happy to try, mother."

He smiled as her features brightened up, sending warmth radiating through his body. His father had finally pushed himself off of the wall and closed the distance to the bed, where he and his mother were and nodded his head. "Trying won't be the problem," his father's voice radiated through the room. "Potter's son needs normality. The boy didn't even know what magic was yet Potter wants us to welcome him in a wizarding household? It's ridiculous and if anything happens while that boy is here, Potter will never let it go. You -" he looked directly at Scor "-better be on your best behavior and don't try anything...that you normally do. If we have to coddle the kid for two weeks then so be it. It'll be like having a pet that you never had."

Hermione grinned, fighting to smother the laugh as she gazed at her husband. "I would hope you treat Albus better than a pet, Scor. Just don't...freak him out. Let him ease into this new world at a slow pace and everything will be okay. Two weeks will fly by before you even know it."

He nodded his head, faking a smile of understanding; however, he barely constrained the eye roll. Why did he and his family have to burden the presence of Harry Potter's son while the man returned to the wizarding world on his own? Shouldn't the father have been thrilled to do that with his son and not throw his offspring on another family - one that he hadn't seen in over a decade?! He may not have ever met the infamous Harry Potter, but really, the man was a complete nutcase. And besides, what were they? Hosting a damn charity case?

He swallowed down his retort, knowing his job to remain silent and agree was in strong reinforcement at the moment. "I'm sure Albus will enjoy his time here very much," he said as he plastered on the most sincere grin he could.

His parents seemed pleased enough and soon the two were leaving his chambers to retire for the night. He wished that he could've simply closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful slumber but his body and mind were wide awake. And more importantly, he was alert and so damn angry. He stayed staring at the top canopy of his bed for hours, thinking of what he was going to do once Albus arrived. He was going to have to really make this boy feel comfortable, he had no choice. A forced friendship could be easy to forge especially if Albus wasn't very bright, but the real question was how long would he be able to hide? He wasn't used to having a second attachment that would follow him around like a second shadow and there was no way that he could go two weeks without…

He tilted his head to the side. The owner of the shop hadn't specified that only animals could be captured in the trap. Scorpius hummed to himself, a contemplating grin forming on his face. He had never heard the crack of a human skull before.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

(Draco's POV)

"Are you sure about this?" he climbed into the bed, pulling his shirt from over his head and discarding it over his shoulder. He prowled across the bed, crawling on his forehands to trap Hermione between his arms. "Two weeks is a long time," he whispered against her skin, beginning to leave ghost kisses along her neck and down the dip between her collarbones.

"It just depends on how you look at it," Hermione's hands began to glide down the taunt muscles in his stomach, her nails gently causing him to inhale sharply. "Two weeks can go by fast or slow, you just have to make the best of the situation."

He rested his forehead against her own. "Make the best of the situation?" he repeated with a mocking tone. If they weren't in such a loving position he would have definitely fought her on that highly ridiculous retort but he wasn't going to risk getting her flared up in anger right before making love because, as he learned years before, when his wife was pissed at him, sex was without a doubt off the table. However, when her anger was directed at anyone else but him, the sex was wild and heated and a bit rough but if it was him...sex was a no go. And he was definitely not going to bed without devouring her body tonight.

"Yes," she answered. "Letting Scor have another friend will be making the best of the situation."

"And do you really believe our son actually needs more friends?" The nips at her skin were becoming more heavier and heated. His body still had hers trapped between his arms and her hands were raking tracks through his hair as his head moved lower on her body.

"He...might...possibly-"

He licked a path up the valley of her breasts, smirking as he heard the hitch in her breathing. "Possibly?" She was shivering in anticipation, her body easily recognizing the touches he was leaving across her skin. He knew every place to rub, suck, and kiss to send her flying over the edge; the power he had over loving her body was immense and he could practically feel her fighting her senses to stay coherent. "Do you not remember what happened when you tried to make Scor friends with the Finch-Fletchley boy?"

She hummed against his neck. "The boy fell down a flight of stairs and tried to blame our son, Draco. Even Justin knew his son was dazed about the whole situation," she brushed it off with ease. "It's not our child's fault that the boy believed it had been Scor that pushed him down and is now scared to be anywhere near him. Our son doesn't have problems making friends."

"I know that," he whispered into her ear. "The problem is our son doesn't want to make new friends and you know it." She let out a delightful gasp as his hand dipped into her inner thighs, which he feverishly took advantage of as he devoured her mouth with his own. She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to deepen their kiss even further. Eventually, however, she pulled back slightly.

"One more -," she panted, "- friend won't hurt him." Her soft, eager breaths were fanning across his face while her chest brushed against his bare one. He relished in the silk friction that her negligee created between the two of them, but he craved skin to skin contact so much more.

"You use that word too broadly, you know," he muttered against her skin. "How Hufflepuff of you, really, to want to have the whole world skipping together and making friendships. Ironic," his gaze flickered down the small coverage of her body, "considering who you married and the colors you love to wear so much." His hands began to push up her silk negligee, skimming up the top portion of her thighs and intentionally avoiding the sensitive apex between her legs just to see her quiver for him a bit longer. "Slytherin green suits you quite well, love." His hands continued to push the small fabric up on Hermione's body, his hands brushing over her breasts as he got closer to taking it completely off of her. With a groan, he grinded himself against her as he started to lose control. The open mouthed kisses down the smooth plane of her neck started to lower as he made his way down her exposed body, getting more feral as he reached her perfect mounds. His teeth were raking along the raised peaks of her breasts. The moan that spilled from her lips made his groin twitch within his pajama bottoms.

"Funny you should mention that," she said breathlessly, a smile playfully tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Gryffindor red suits you just as well."

At a loss, his brows furrowed in confusion, stopping his descent from getting to his true desire. He was about to question her on what the hell she was talking about considering he had never worn the ghastly shade ever in his life but as he followed her line of sight, he balked. The cheeky witch had transfigured the black fabric of his bottoms into the signature Gryffindor red, much to his horror. He laughed though, admiring her brave actions, and quickly rolled himself off of her to tear the remnant clothing off of his body. He sat up to throw it as far as he could before turning back around to smirk at his wife; giving her a look that screamed at her that he was going to consume her whole. Draco pounced on her again, sliding his hands down her thighs to wrap her legs around his hips. His erection was probing at her stomach as he leaned down to recapture her mouth with his. He knew his actions were purely possessive, as if being near Potter has somehow left its mark on his wife, and he was doing everything in his power to reclaim her. It was just that there was so much time that Hermione and Harry had shared together while he had looked on from afar but now that the git was back in her life, jealousy was consuming him as if there was no tomorrow. Which, however, made things worse because tomorrow, Potter was actually dropping off his son and leaving him for two weeks while he got Grimmauld Place back in order. That left him personally in charge of Potter's offspring, which was something he had never imagined would happen. When Potter had first threw his idea at them, Draco had wanted to laugh in the man's face and leave then and there but Hermione, ever the bleeding heart, empathised for the poor wanker. And as before, Potter had practically played Hermione right in front of his eyes, going as far as looking like he was a victim in all this that desperately needed help. He didn't necessarily care that Albus was going to be in his house for the next two weeks but he was worried about how the two weeks would play out. Scorpius had seemed fine with it, as if he didn't care, but he knew his son better than that. He knew how to read people, after all, and even though Scor tried to desperately hide behind shields of faux paux, his discomfort had been easily readable. And as a father, Draco couldn't blame him. Hell, even he wasn't comfortable with having the kid there but Hermione had been adamant that everything would work out. She was sure that everything would be just fine. He, on the other hand...two weeks was a long time to be a guest within the Malfoy household.

He dove into his wife without looking back. Her warmth pulled him in; her heavenly gates welcoming him home and locking him in place. He lost himself between her legs and allowed all coherent thought to escape his mind as Hermione's moans reached his ears - sweet, blissful moans that tore through his body one by one until he was filling their chamber with his own groans of pleasure as they consumed one another.

Two weeks spent like this - entwined together; legs and tongues twisted - would be more than welcome. He just hoped that everything would run as smoothly as Hermione assumed it would. Merlin forbid a repeat of another generation of Malfoy vs. Potter. That would definitely not bode well within the universe of time. Then again, history did have a tendency to repeat itself, for both the good and the bad.


	7. Chapter 7

(Scor's POV)

His knee was bobbing up and down as he stared at the grandfather clock; watching and waiting for what seemed like hours. His blood was rushing in anticipation knowing that Albus would be arriving at any minute. It was already past noon - the time that his mother had said that the Potter's would arrive - and his skin felt prickled in annoyance that they hadn't kept true to their word precisely.

Liars.

He didn't like liars. He didn't like being lied to either. Ever. There was just something about those individuals that had the audacity to spew false words to him that made him bare his teeth, ready to cut and tear flesh from bone.

Scorpius bit the inside of his cheek as yet another minute passed by. He was vaguely aware of the conversation between his parents in the sitting room in the next chamber over but all he could concentrate on was the damn clicking of the clock as it continued to pound against his eardrums.

...Tick-Tock...Tick-Tock... Tick-Tock…

He craned his neck as the ache of his tense muscles dawned on him. It was as if the layers of conjunctions in his jaw knew too, that he was going to be tested while this boy was here. Following him. Watching him. Ready to cry wolf at the slightest suspect of anything going wrong due to his actions.

His lips pursed in aggravation at the thought. This was going to be bloody difficult and he hated Albus because of it. The boy was a child, like him, but mentally not as informed of the wizarding world as Talon and the young Zabini was seven years old for Merlin's sake. How in the name of Salazar Slytherin was he going to be able to do it? He had zero patience as it was and he had adapted a blood lust that made demands whenever it felt the urge. It was a deadly obsession that had a dominant pull in his veins and would crawl across his skin like a bug that dared to be smashed.

There was no way he was going to be able to do this.

He couldn't.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped his gaze away from the clock and downed them into his lap where his hands rested. His fingers were clasped tightly around the edges of a mask he had been given by his grandfather. He knew the history of it, how it held nothing but death and darkness in the metallic structure and that's what made him that much more eager for the Potter's to arrive. He wanted to see Harry Potter's face when the man would lay sight upon the shiny mask. He wanted to watch the emotions flash across the man's face, knowing damn well that a Death Eater mask was bound to cause turmoil with the Chosen One. Especially since it was the one that had belonged to his grandfather and he knew for a fact that Harry Potter had seen it on numerous occasions.

It left him practically trembling for their arrival.

He was just about to slide the mask on, just for the hell of it, when he felt a quick warmth shoot through his body that sent him flying to his feet.

The wards had changed. The Potter's were here.

His eyes darted towards the entranceway of the sitting room as his parents hurried through. His mother was already charging out of the room but stopped briefly as she caught sight of him. "Scor," she breathed with a tentative smile. "They're here. Are you coming?"

He turned his head as his father sauntered into the room, head tucked down with his hands shoved in his pockets. His father's jaw was clenched as if he were fighting the urge to curse the manor down and his silver orbitals were brewing up a storm. However, Draco was watching him as well, waiting for him to answer his mother's question. His father didn't appear to be in a rush to get to their guests as his mother was.

Scorpius didn't blame him. He knew, without a doubt, that his father didn't want those people here anymore than he did. Damn his mother for having such a caring heart. It was sickening at times - times like this.

"I'm going to use the loo first," he replied with a tight grin. "But i'll join you in the floo room immediately after."

His mother nodded her head with a smile before holding out one of her hands for his father to take. Draco hadn't missed a beat, enclosing their hands together, and followed her out of the door.

Scorpius held his breath as his father gripped the doorway, halting his exit, and turned his head to give him one last look. "I'm not telling you to become best mates with the boy, nor do I expect you to, but know the boundaries. No longer than five minutes, son, since we both know you aren't going to the bathroom."

"Yes father," he said with a smirk, one that he knew mirrored the man in front of him. With one final nod, Draco had released the frame and allowed himself to be dragged away.

He released a ragged breath and wasted no time grabbing onto the door and slamming it shut, however, just as the wood was a hair's width away from the frame, his motion slowed drastically to allow the door to close silently to prevent catching his parents attention. Scorpius stood right behind the door, one palm lingering on the thick wood and the other hand was slowly bringing the mask to his face.

As the smooth surface connected with his face, he exhaled, forcing himself to relax. All he had to do was hide, it's all he needed to do. For two long weeks.

Two fucking weeks.

"Let the games begin," he muttered to himself just as he reached down and yanked the door open with more force than what was necessary. Even though he wore his grandfather's mask, he knew nothing could hide the sinister smirk that was plastered across his face. It was time to watch them squirm.

It was time for him to have some fun.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

(Albus' POV)

The room that he had...popped out of a fireplace from, was huge and reminded him instantly of something that would be in a castle for only the royal family. The room was decorated in an elegant manner with splashes of green and silver embedded along dark wooden furniture that left him breathless. In a good way, not like when he had been magically sucked into a roaring green fire and pushed into this mansion that popped straight out of a high end interior design magazine. It made him actually think that these next two weeks wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be. He was already going to be spending time with Hermione, something his father couldn't stop gushing about, but now he was going to be doing it inside this mansion! He was practically doing cartwheels in his mind.

These two weeks weren't going to be bad at all.

"Told you this place was huge," his father mumbled towards him, but his green eyes were wide and flickering around the room frantically. Albus noted that, as before when he had first seen Hermione and Draco, his father had a stick...his wand, clutched firmly in his hands as if he were waiting for -

The door of the room swished open and a smile danced onto his face as Hermione came gliding in. He was just about to fling himself on her but stopped as her husband came in right behind her, a dark figure that was glued to her back.

"Harry, Albus, welcome to-" her honey eyes wavered down onto his father's wand and he saw the warmth leave her gaze as her lips thinned. From her side, Draco hadn't paid any mind to anything but the wand in his father's hand.

"What were you expecting, Potter? An ambush?" Draco's glare had narrowed dangerously. "We invite you into our house and you -"

"Can't really blame me, can you Malfoy? I mean, afterall, this house was once Death Eater headquarters and still has two of them under its roof," Harry retorted, wincing slightly as he realized he had gone too far. His mouth closed several times, as if he were trying to find the right words to say, before he sighed heavily and made a show of tucking his wand back into his sleeve. He sheepishly raised his gaze to meet Hermione, who had no qualms showing her disdain towards him as she kept her eyes trained only on her husband.

"I apologize for that," his father said. "I just...I've been struggling on the thought of dropping my son off here."

Hermione diverted her attention back on Harry like a hawk. "You were the one who asked us to take Albus in. If you'd rather take him to the Weasley's -"

"I know, I know," his father nodded his head. "I want him here, truly I do, I just have bad memories of this place...as I'm sure you do as well."

Albus eyes darted between the two adults in confusion. There was still so much tension between the three of them that didn't make complete sense to him. His father hadn't taken the time to thoroughly explain everything that would make this all understandable. Hermione was his father's friend. Draco wasn't. But why? What had gone wrong between them all?

"Yes," Hermione's voice rang out cautiously. "- but for that one bad memory, I've gained a lifetime worth of good ones," she softly grinned at Draco. "Because of where I am and who I am with, the presence of Death Eaters included."

His father nodded his head with tight lips, bowing his head slightly in apology. "I might be wrong when I say this, but I highly doubt I will be…" Harry trailed off. "Does Lucius have a problem with this? Will I need to worry about the possibility of my son being harassed by -"

"No," Hermione cut him off, sharing a look with her husband. "Draco and I have decided that we'll be going to the house in muggle London after today. We figured it would not only put you at ease but also other members of this household. Besides, there's much more to do there in the city than out here in the country. Scor loves it so we assumed that you would too," she smiled gently in his direction, in which he was more than pleased to return.

From his side, some of the stress wafting from his father lessened. "That's very considerate, thank you. I'm sure they'll have plenty of fun together. It'll be like reliving the old days, with a Potter and Granger friendship."

Hermione's brows furrowed slightly as her smile wavered. "Actually, Harry, it'll be the complete opposite of the 'old days' because Scorpius is entirely Malfoy through and through. And that is a friendship no one has ever seen."

"He's practically my carbon copy," Draco said with a blank face. "Everyone that's ever talked to him tells me that there's no mistaking he's the next Malfoy heir. Like father, like son."

His father's grin tightened, with green eyes that suddenly turned unsure. "How...wonderful. I'm looking more and more forward to seeing how these next few weeks will be playing out. Speaking of which, where is Sco -"

"BOO!"

Suddenly, time blurred together before his eyes as several things took place at once. From the opposite end of where Hermione and Draco had appeared, another door had opened and a figure emerged. His father had spun around instantly, wand out with an incantation beginning on the tip of his tongue, however, as he did so, Draco had already pulled his wand out and pointed it at his father.

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand that his father had went sailing across the room straight into Draco's hand as Hermione rushed passed them to grab ahold of whom his father had been seconds away from casting towards.

"Harry Potter, what the blazing hell do you think you are doing!?" Hermione nearly screeched at his father, glaring dangerously. "You could've hurt him! We told you there was no threat to you or Albus' safety in this house!"

Albus peered around his father as he caught the motion of the boy standing beside Hermione. The boy had reached up and removed the mask that he had been wearing, leaving sight to a face that was pristine and very...aristocratic, in a way. He had never seen another boy look like the one in the room. He was standing around his own height, with a slender build like him as well, but he had a head full of pale, shocking, blonde hair and grey eyes that shined when the light hit his iris' at just the right angle. They appeared to glow, now that Albus really thought about it, and it reminded him of those scary eyes he would watch on the television screen when a werewolf transformed into their deadly form. Those eyes gave him the chills.

But he was being dramatic, he knew that. Because the boy was nothing but a boy, like him only with impeccably well tailored clothes and shiny shoes. It made him cringe as he looked down at his outworn leather loafers but he was quick to dismiss that thought as he brought his gaze back up and, to his surprise, the boy was looking right back at him.

So that was Scorpius. That was the boy he was here to meet and befriend for the next two weeks. That was the boy that got to address Hermione as 'Mother' and got to call this palace his home. More importantly, that was the boy that had just given his father a full blown heart attack.

" 'Mione what is he doing wearing a Death Eater mask!? Isn't that the one that belonged to Lucius? How - Wha -"

Albus had began to shift his attention to Hermione, thinking Scorpius would do the same, but he halted as he became aware that the later had no intention of breaking their stare. With a clench of his jaw, he refused to back down.

"It's part of his family's past, Harry. It's part of who he is and I will not be biased enough to not let him be informed. Just because it is the wrong side of history, doesn't mean it disappeared."

His father's mouth dropped in disbelief. "That's still - "

"It's just a mask now," Hermione said. "A trinket passed from grandfather to grandson, and nothing more. If Lucius were to still believe in his prejudice ways, then it would be a completely different story but he doesn't so we were fine with him giving it to Scor."

Finally, Albus was allowed to blink as Scorpius disregarded him and suddenly looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Scorpius said with wide eyes, flickering them to the side as Draco returned his father's wand and walked to stand beside Hermione. "I thought it would be interesting to show to Albus. I thought...he might like it." His piercing grey gaze snapped back onto his in the blink of an eye.

It made him want to take a step back.

His father sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. "No, it's fine, Scorpius. It was a kind gesture. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm just a bit...jumpy, that's all."

Albus watched as Hermione regarded his father carefully before she turned her attention towards her son. "Scor, how about you give Albus a tour? I'm sure he'd like that instead of having to listen to grown up talk. You two go have fun."

His eyes flickered to the side, noting how Scorpius' shoulders had tensed. The action had been brief, making him wonder if it had even happened at all, before Scorpius nodded his head. "Of course, Mother." The boy had turned to look at him expectantly, his face tethering on impatience. "Would you like to go on a tour, Albus?"

He couldn't say no. Afterall, eventually he would have to talk and spend time with Scorpius. He didn't want to be difficult, not with everything that his father was already going through. So before he could think better of himself, his mouth was opening and his answer was spewing into the air. "A tour would be cool."

And with that, Scorpius jutted his chin towards the door. He followed wordlessly and tried his best not to let his father see his true feelings as he turned to close the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

(Scor's POV)

His knee was bobbing up and down as he stared at the grandfather clock; watching and waiting for what seemed like hours. His blood was rushing in anticipation knowing that Albus would be arriving at any minute. It was already past noon - the time that his mother had said that the Potter's would arrive - and his skin felt prickled in annoyance that they hadn't kept true to their word precisely.

 _Liars_.

He didn't like liars. He didn't like being lied to either. Ever. There was just something about those individuals that had the audacity to spew false words to him that made him bare his teeth, ready to cut and tear flesh from bone.

Scorpius bit the inside of his cheek as yet another minute passed by. He was vaguely aware of the conversation between his parents in the sitting room in the next chamber over but all he could concentrate on was the damn clicking of the clock as it continued to pound against his eardrums.

... _Tick-Tock...Tick-Tock... Tick-Tock…_

He craned his neck as the ache of his tense muscles dawned on him. It was as if the layers of conjunctions in his jaw knew too, that he was going to be tested while this boy was here. Following him. Watching him. Ready to cry wolf at the slightest suspect of anything going wrong due to his actions.

His lips pursed in aggravation at the thought. This was going to be bloody difficult and he hated Albus because of it. The boy was a child, like him, but mentally not as informed of the wizarding world as Talon and the young Zabini was seven years old for Merlin's sake. How in the name of Salazar Slytherin was he going to be able to do it? He had zero patience as it was and he had adapted a blood lust that made demands whenever it felt the urge. It was a deadly obsession that had a dominant pull in his veins and would crawl across his skin like a bug that dared to be smashed.

There was no way he was going to be able to do this.

He couldn't.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped his gaze away from the clock and downed them into his lap where his hands rested. His fingers were clasped tightly around the edges of a mask he had been given by his grandfather. He knew the history of it, how it held nothing but death and darkness in the metallic structure and that's what made him that much more  _eager_ for the Potter's to arrive. He wanted to see Harry Potter's face when the man would lay sight upon the shiny mask. He wanted to watch the emotions flash across the man's face, knowing damn well that a Death Eater mask was bound to cause turmoil with the Chosen One. Especially since it was the one that had belonged to his grandfather and he knew for a fact that Harry Potter had seen it on numerous occasions.

It left him practically trembling for their arrival.

He was just about to slide the mask on, just for the hell of it, when he felt a quick warmth shoot through his body that sent him flying to his feet.

The wards had changed. The Potter's were here.

His eyes darted towards the entranceway of the sitting room as his parents hurried through. His mother was already charging out of the room but stopped briefly as she caught sight of him. "Scor," she breathed with a tentative smile. "They're here. Are you coming?"

He turned his head as his father sauntered into the room, head tucked down with his hands shoved in his pockets. His father's jaw was clenched as if he were fighting the urge to curse the manor down and his silver orbitals were brewing up a storm. However, Draco was watching him as well, waiting for him to answer his mother's question. His father didn't appear to be in a rush to get to their guests as his mother was.

Scorpius didn't blame him. He knew, without a doubt, that his father didn't want those people here anymore than he did. Damn his mother for having such a caring heart. It was sickening at times - times like this.

"I'm going to use the loo first," he replied with a tight grin. "But i'll join you in the floo room immediately after."

His mother nodded her head with a smile before holding out one of her hands for his father to take. Draco hadn't missed a beat, enclosing their hands together, and followed her out of the door.

Scorpius held his breath as his father gripped the doorway, halting his exit, and turned his head to give him one last look. "I'm not telling you to become best mates with the boy, nor do I expect you to, but know the boundaries. No longer than five minutes, son, since we both know you aren't going to the bathroom."

"Yes father," he said with a smirk, one that he knew mirrored the man in front of him. With one final nod, Draco had released the frame and allowed himself to be dragged away.

He released a ragged breath and wasted no time grabbing onto the door and slamming it shut, however, just as the wood was a hair's width away from the frame, his motion slowed drastically to allow the door to close silently to prevent catching his parents attention. Scorpius stood right behind the door, one palm lingering on the thick wood and the other hand was slowly bringing the mask to his face.

As the smooth surface connected with his face, he exhaled, forcing himself to relax. All he had to do was hide, it's all he needed to do. For two long weeks.

_Two fucking weeks._

"Let the games begin," he muttered to himself just as he reached down and yanked the door open with more force than what was necessary. Even though he wore his grandfather's mask, he knew nothing could hide the sinister smirk that was plastered across his face. It was time to watch them squirm.

It was time for him to have some fun.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

(Albus' POV)

The room that he had...popped out of a fireplace from, was huge and reminded him instantly of something that would be in a castle for only the royal family. The room was decorated in an elegant manner with splashes of green and silver embedded along dark wooden furniture that left him breathless. In a good way, not like when he had been magically sucked into a roaring green fire and pushed into this mansion that popped straight out of a high end interior design magazine. It made him actually think that these next two weeks wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be. He was already going to be spending time with Hermione, something his father couldn't stop gushing about, but now he was going to be doing it inside this mansion! He was practically doing cartwheels in his mind.

These two weeks weren't going to be bad at all.

"Told you this place was huge," his father mumbled towards him, but his green eyes were wide and flickering around the room frantically. Albus noted that, as before when he had first seen Hermione and Draco, his father had a stick...his wand, clutched firmly in his hands as if he were waiting for -

The door of the room swished open and a smile danced onto his face as Hermione came gliding in. He was just about to fling himself on her but stopped as her husband came in right behind her, a dark figure that was glued to her back.

"Harry, Albus, welcome to-" her honey eyes wavered down onto his father's wand and he saw the warmth leave her gaze as her lips thinned. From her side, Draco hadn't paid any mind to anything but the wand in his father's hand.

"What were you expecting, Potter? An ambush?" Draco's glare had narrowed dangerously. "We  _invite_ you into  _our_ house and you -"

"Can't really blame me, can you Malfoy? I mean, afterall, this house was once Death Eater headquarters and still has two of them under its roof," Harry retorted, wincing slightly as he realized he had gone too far. His mouth closed several times, as if he were trying to find the right words to say, before he sighed heavily and made a show of tucking his wand back into his sleeve. He sheepishly raised his gaze to meet Hermione, who had no qualms showing her disdain towards him as she kept her eyes trained only on her husband.

"I apologize for that," his father said. "I just...I've been struggling on the thought of dropping my son off here."

Hermione diverted her attention back on Harry like a hawk. "You were the one who asked us to take Albus in. If you'd rather take him to the Weasley's -"

"I know, I know," his father nodded his head. "I want him here, truly I do, I just have bad memories of this place...as I'm sure you do as well."

Albus eyes darted between the two adults in confusion. There was still so much tension between the three of them that didn't make complete sense to him. His father hadn't taken the time to thoroughly explain everything that would make this all understandable. Hermione was his father's friend. Draco wasn't. But why? What had gone wrong between them all?

"Yes," Hermione's voice rang out cautiously. "- but for that one bad memory, I've gained a lifetime worth of good ones," she softly grinned at Draco. "Because of where I am and who I am with, the presence of Death Eaters included."

His father nodded his head with tight lips, bowing his head slightly in apology. "I might be wrong when I say this, but I highly doubt I will be…" Harry trailed off. "Does Lucius have a problem with this? Will I need to worry about the possibility of my son being harassed by -"

"No," Hermione cut him off, sharing a look with her husband. "Draco and I have decided that we'll be going to the house in muggle London after today. We figured it would not only put you at ease but also  _other_ members of this household. Besides, there's much more to do there in the city than out here in the country. Scor loves it so we assumed that you would too," she smiled gently in his direction, in which he was more than pleased to return.

From his side, some of the stress wafting from his father lessened. "That's very considerate, thank you. I'm sure they'll have plenty of fun together. It'll be like reliving the old days, with a Potter and Granger friendship."

Hermione's brows furrowed slightly as her smile wavered. "Actually, Harry, it'll be the complete opposite of the 'old days' because Scorpius is entirely Malfoy through and through. And  _that_ is a friendship no one has ever seen."

"He's practically my carbon copy," Draco said with a blank face. "Everyone that's ever talked to him tells me that there's no mistaking he's the next Malfoy heir.  _Like father, like son_."

His father's grin tightened, with green eyes that suddenly turned unsure. "How...wonderful. I'm looking more and more forward to seeing how these next few weeks will be playing out. Speaking of which, where is Sco -"

"BOO!"

Suddenly, time blurred together before his eyes as several things took place at once. From the opposite end of where Hermione and Draco had appeared, another door had opened and a figure emerged. His father had spun around instantly, wand out with an incantation beginning on the tip of his tongue, however, as he did so, Draco had already pulled his wand out and pointed it at his father.

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand that his father had went sailing across the room straight into Draco's hand as Hermione rushed passed them to grab ahold of whom his father had been seconds away from casting towards.

"Harry Potter, what the blazing hell do you think you are doing!?" Hermione nearly screeched at his father, glaring dangerously. "You could've hurt him! We told you there was no threat to you or Albus' safety in this house!"

Albus peered around his father as he caught the motion of the boy standing beside Hermione. The boy had reached up and removed the mask that he had been wearing, leaving sight to a face that was pristine and very...aristocratic, in a way. He had never seen another boy look like the one in the room. He was standing around his own height, with a slender build like him as well, but he had a head full of pale, shocking, blonde hair and grey eyes that shined when the light hit his iris' at just the right angle. They appeared to glow, now that Albus really thought about it, and it reminded him of those scary eyes he would watch on the television screen when a werewolf transformed into their deadly form. Those eyes gave him the chills.

But he was being dramatic, he knew that. Because the boy was nothing but a boy, like him only with impeccably well tailored clothes and shiny shoes. It made him cringe as he looked down at his outworn leather loafers but he was quick to dismiss that thought as he brought his gaze back up and, to his surprise, the boy was looking right back at him.

So that was  _Scorpius_. That was the boy he was here to meet and befriend for the next two weeks. That was the boy that got to address Hermione as 'Mother' and got to call this palace his home. More importantly, that was the boy that had just given his father a full blown heart attack.

" 'Mione what is he doing wearing a Death Eater mask!? Isn't that the one that belonged to Lucius? How - Wha -"

Albus had began to shift his attention to Hermione, thinking Scorpius would do the same, but he halted as he became aware that the later had no intention of breaking their stare. With a clench of his jaw, he refused to back down.

"It's part of his family's past, Harry. It's part of who he is and I will not be biased enough to not let him be informed. Just because it is the wrong side of history, doesn't mean it disappeared."

His father's mouth dropped in disbelief. "That's still - "

"It's just a mask now," Hermione said. "A trinket passed from grandfather to grandson, and nothing more. If Lucius were to still believe in his prejudice ways, then it would be a completely different story but he doesn't so we were fine with him giving it to Scor."

Finally, Albus was allowed to blink as Scorpius disregarded him and suddenly looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Scorpius said with wide eyes, flickering them to the side as Draco returned his father's wand and walked to stand beside Hermione. "I thought it would be interesting to show to Albus. I thought...he might like it." His piercing grey gaze snapped back onto his in the blink of an eye.

It made him want to take a step back.

His father sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. "No, it's fine, Scorpius. It was a kind gesture. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm just a bit...jumpy, that's all."

Albus watched as Hermione regarded his father carefully before she turned her attention towards her son. "Scor, how about you give Albus a tour? I'm sure he'd like that instead of having to listen to grown up talk. You two go have fun."

His eyes flickered to the side, noting how Scorpius' shoulders had tensed. The action had been brief, making him wonder if it had even happened at all, before Scorpius nodded his head. "Of course, Mother." The boy had turned to look at him expectantly, his face tethering on impatience. "Would you like to go on a tour, Albus?"

He couldn't say no. Afterall, eventually he would have to talk and spend time with Scorpius. He didn't want to be difficult, not with everything that his father was already going through. So before he could think better of himself, his mouth was opening and his answer was spewing into the air. "A tour would be cool."

And with that, Scorpius jutted his chin towards the door. He followed wordlessly and tried his best not to let his father see his true feelings as he turned to close the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

As he thought before, the house was huge and he knew that he would get lost the moment he was left alone. There was simply too many twists and turns and doors and staircases that even though Scorpius was telling him which rooms were which, the words were going in one ear and out the other. Besides, it wasn't like he would be there for the entire span of his stay. He had heard Hermione mention that they would be going to another house...which, now that he thought about it, how many houses did these people have? Better yet, how many did they need?

"This is my room," Scorpius' voice broke his train of thought as they walked along the vast corridor. He was vaguely aware that they were somewhere on the second floor. "And the bedroom that you will inhabiting for the night, is that one." Scorpius pointed a pale finger across the hall to another door that was identical to all of the others.

"I'm to sleep alone?" he asked aloud in confusion. He had simply thought that the two were expected to sleep in the same room, hence the 'two-week-long-sleepover' as his dad had said. He had never been to a sleepover before and slept in an entire different bedroom. Then again, this was his first sleepover in a freaking mansion. Perhaps it was just what the rich did.

Scorpius, however, chose not to answer him.

He sucked on his teeth as the boy made no move to at least show him inside the two rooms. "Are we going inside your room?" he asked just to make small talk. The silence made him want to pull his hair out. He figured that the tour was already coming to a close so he really didn't know what else they would do to pass the time.

He turned to look at Scorpius and watched as the blonde slowly faced him, his face in a blank but curious state. "Why?" he raised a pale brow.

Albus shrugged. "Bedrooms are supposed to symbolize one's soul. Getting a view into someone's bedroom would give you a direct view into their soul. It's like a window."

Grey eyes narrowed as Scorpius cocked his head. "If a bedroom is that...personal, then why would I show it to you? I don't even know you."

"Why not?" he shot back, feeling a sense of bravery that he didn't know where it came from. "If we were at my house then I would have no problem showing you my room. It's not like you have anything to hide -"

Before Albus could continue on, Scorpius huffed and threw his bedroom door open. "There. Happy?"

He could feel the intensity of Scorpius' gaze as it bored into the side of his face. His eyes were taking everything in; the scale of the bedroom, the expensive furniture, the lone photograph that rested on a bedside table. It was a breathtaking room, something people would pay thousands of dollars to spend a night in but it was just that. The room didn't look like it belonged to a young boy. Other than the fact that there was a stray coat draped on the back of a chair and random objects scattered along the furniture surfaces, he would have guessed that the room was a guest bedroom.

"Where are your things?"

Scorpius gave him a bewildered look as if he had just spoken a different language. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Albus gestured towards the room, "where are your personal items? There's no posters or trophies or toys anywhere in sight. Doesn't seem much like a room, just space." He darted a look towards Scorpius when the boy crossed his arms sternly across his chest.

"Posters are tacky," he answered matter-of-factly, with a slight tilt of his nose. "Any toys I grew up with are in the nursery. It wouldn't seem mature to have toys littered around the floor of my bedroom." Albus could see the logic in that and really, if he had the luxury of having a nursery separate from his bedroom, he wouldn't still have a trunk full of his boyish toys at the base of his bed.

"So then, no trophies? I take it you aren't very athletic." he guessed aloud. "That's a relief, really, I'm not much of an athlete either. I tried soccer a few years back but that didn't go too well. My father told me all about quidditch, seems a bit dangerous but I suppose it has its quirks. Do you play?" He turned to peer at Scorpius from over his shoulder and hesitated as he saw the look the boy was giving him, nearly choking on his own saliva as it caught in his throat. Scorpius was glaring at him as if he were a bug, with veiled annoyance that looked murderous as his jaw ticked. It made him swallow thickly.

At a period of silence, Albus cleared his throat loudly.

He didn't miss Scorpius' eye roll. "Every magical child plays quidditch eventually. I usually play with my father or my friend, Axel. My mother isn't a big fan of it and even though I can play, I only do it on occasion. I have... other things that require my attention. As for trophies, they obviously go in the trophy room. Why would I want them cluttering my bedroom?"

"Why not?" Albus pushed on with a raised, curious brow. "It would show how good you are at...whatever it is you do."

"It isn't proper to boast to those that you don't need to," Scorpius gave him a pointed look. It made Albus feel small as if the floor was threatening to swallow him up. "I know how good I am. My parents and grandparents know how good I am as well as our family friends. But the most important is my competition. It's quite...pleasurable to see them squirm in intimidation."

"You're that good?"

Scorpius didn't let his egotistical look fade, smirking quite vibrantly at him. "One of the best in England to partake in my age group. I've been doing it since I was five. "

That had captured Albus attention greatly. So much for Scorpius not being athletic. He felt like a bloody fool for babbling earlier in his nervousness. Yet again, Scorpius was above and beyond any expectation Albus had expected of him. Was there anything that he didn't have?

"And what, may I ask, is it that you do so well?"

Scorpius cast a sideway glance at him, as if he were up sizing him, before he crossed the threshold and took several brisk steps into his room. Albus, however, took only one step in and decided to linger near the door frame. He wasn't sure if it would be proper for him to enter the room without given exact permission. God forbid he appear to be a complete mongrel. He did have some knowledge in propriety.

He allowed his gaze to wander as Scorpius approached an enclosed cabinet mounted on his wall, feeling relieved that the blonde's attention wasn't solely on him. His bedroom was larger than the room he had flooed into, and instead of the enriched fabrics that lined every other room they had entered, this bedroom had a dark color pallet. The sheets on the bed and curtains on the window were a dark grey while the couch was made of a quilted black fabric. The room was still quite nice but it didn't feel very welcoming as the other did. Somehow even the wallpaper adorned on the walls seemed to be whispering at him to turn around and get out.

He moved his foot back, getting ready to retreat back into the safety of the hallway when his attention snapped onto Scorpius as he heard the distinct sound of a draw weight of a bow string. He was met staring down a slender arrow, breathless as the dangerous glint of the silver tip flashed within his orbitals. Scorpius stood before him with the bow, having his anchor point at the corner of his eye and a sinister grin across his face.

The breath in his throat hitched. "Wha-"

"Archery," Scorpius said firmly. "I'm an archer, a quite good one at that."

Albus stepped to the side, trying to get away from Scorpius' line of sight but as he moved, the pale blonde followed him. Scorpius turned his torso slightly, trailing Albus' move with watchful eyes. There was a cold shear of terror that trickled down Albus' back and he wanted nothing more than to retreat. The look in Scorpius' eyes was more dangerous than anything he had ever seen before.

"Do you want to know why I like archery?" Scorpius took a step closer, a sinister grin on his face as he spoke slowly. Albus continued to take small steps to circle around him, causing the two to circle around one another like vultures would a carcass. If he smelled carefully, he could even get a whiff of death reaching out to sink its claws into him. "When you pull the bow back, it relies on you to control it. You have to put just enough force into the draw that if you don't, the arrow won't hesitate to show how weak you are. But-," the blonde's grip on the black handle tightened, "- when you're strong, the arrow does exactly as you want. It will do the work for you from a distance while you watch. With a tool like this, you can always be two steps ahead of what you're after. In hindsight, the bow becomes a hunter's best friend."

Albus stopped his circling steps and raised a questioning brow towards Scorpius. "Are you saying that you're a hunter? You don't seem like the type to go camping in the woods nor one to have patience. But if that's the case, then what is it that you hunt, Scorpius?"

The boy in dark clothing sent him an amused smirk. "You know, you ask an awful lot of questions."

"So?" Albus pressed. "You said there was nothing to hide, right? What's wrong with a little bit of curiosity?"

Finally, Scorpius closed his pull and moved the bow to point at the floor. Albus fought hard to not take a deep breath of relief, last he wanted was for Scorpius to see how scared shitless he had been.

"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat'?" Scorpius narrowed his eyes at him, reminding Albus very much of a predator stalking its prey just for the hell of it; not killing or maiming, only toying with him to bask in the fear it created. "It is a muggle term, hence, you should know it. You were the one who had grown up without ever learning magic. How...boring."

Albus crossed his arms in front of his chest, recognizing the insult for what it was. "Of course I've heard it," he said with more attitude than necessary. "But I'm obviously no cat."

"I know that," Scorpius sneered. "But you see...cats are known for having nine lives and you, Albus, only have one. So tread very carefully. It's your life you're playing with."

The two stared each other down for several long seconds that seemed to drift into hours, the blurred lines of reality were still as silver clashed into emerald. Neither wanted to back down from each other yet neither wanted to break the silence that formed between them. It was more comforting to have the silence than spew words laced with venom at one another. Silence was key here, or so it seemed.

However, his cherished silence crumbled into oblivion as Scorpius laughed, big and boisterous and...friendly.

It pained Scorpius, if he was being honest with himself. The hoarse chortle had been pulled straight from the vibration of his vocal cords and had felt like sandpaper as it had slid along his esophagus but he had no other option. He had seen the suspicious twitch of Albus' eyes at his words prior. The last thing he needed was to fuck everything up not even an hour into meeting the git. He needed to slink back into the shadows of his interior and push forward the behavior his parents expected.

"I'm just messing with you," Scorpius grinned, suddenly turning amicable in front of his very eyes. It fascinated Albus how quickly he had been able to do so, as if it had been as simple as taking off a mask and switching it with another. As Scorpius continued to chuckle to himself, Albus watched as the blonde walked back to the cabinet to gently place his bow back into its rightful position, a humorous grin plastered on his pale face. "Really," Scorpius nodded his head in reassurance. "I was just seeing if you had tough skin. It's not everyday I get to meet a new person and the last thing I want to do is befriend someone as fickle as a child." He turned to look at Albus and eased up as much as he could, finding it extremely difficult to act as if he hadn't just aimed his bow and arrow at the nuisance. He could have easily let go and said it was a horrible accident gone wrong. No one would question otherwise, especially when considering an eleven year old boy that was too curious for his own good.

But he was just getting started. He knew that Albus was going to provide much more entertainment in the close future. Besides, he was all about making new friends.

With practiced expertise, he smiled a perfect smile - straight, pristine, white teeth on full display - and held his hand out for Albus to take. "It's nice to meet you, Albus. I hope your time here is everything you hope it to be and I look forward to making you feel at home."

Even when Albus eyed his extended hand with nothing but suspicion, Scorpius strongly held his front and refused to crack. He simply couldn't with Albus' ever watching eyes, calculating every word and action of that he did.

Albus felt trapped, like he was running out of air to breath as if water had lodged its way into his lungs. Was Scorpius being sincere? Honest with every word that he said or was this all an act? He knew he was being paranoid and that Scorpius probably was just trying to warm up to him but he had never felt this...threatened before. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but he just couldn't ignore the small voice at the back of his head that was screaming at him to stay on guard, to stay ready for an attack. But dear Jesus, he was suppose to be here for two freaking weeks not just a few hours! It would be for the best, not only for him, but for everyone if he could swallow down his hesitations.

Do it for dad, he pleaded with himself. Do it for mom.

He owed them that much.

Albus took a deep breath and uneasily returned the smile Scorpius had given him. He stretched out his own hand and wrapped it around the one offered to him, shaking it firmly enough to match the force the later had bestowed.

"Nice to meet you, Scorpius."

The blonde smiled but all that flashed in Albus' green eyes were teeth tearing into flesh, blood splashing onto the hardwood and paneled walls. He did his best to ignore the picture of his beaten and torn body hidden underneath the bed. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some flashbacks for your enjoyment!   
> \-------------------------------------

_8 years ago…_

The streets of Diagon Alley were crowded as usual; wizards and witches scurrying about with hands full of their purchases and yelling at their offsprings to stay close even as the children went racing down the cobblestone path. Draco could only sigh in relief that he didn't have to deal with unruly children just yet.

He shifted Scorpius in his arm just as another child stormed passed him after exciting the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and bit the inside of his cheek to stop the storm of profanities that threatened to come forth. Merlin forbid his son pick any of them up, that would definitely not bode well with Hermione and he'd much rather continue his life with all of him intact. However, he doubted that three year old Scorpius was paying attention to anything as his young eyes darted from building to building, person to person, as stimuli crashed into his senses. He enjoyed watching the little emotions flicker across his son's face as he became mesmerized by the sheer magic that ran through the streets. At such a young age, Scorpius hadn't been brought into the outside world with an exception of a handful of times and for a list of reasons that clearly justified his and Hermione's intent but today he had only needed to make a quick visit to Gringotts and neither of them had seen a reason to  _not_ take Scor. Hermione had opted out to help Ginny with the setup of the Zabini's new nursery for their second born so it left him and Scorpius on their own for less than an hour. Nothing drastic, as Hermione had put it. If his excursion would've taken more than that, he knew she would've hesitated. It was humorous to see his witch worry over his parenting skills but if he were being honest, Scor almost always acted better with him than her but it wasn't as if he would ever admit that to his wife. Again, he'd rather enjoy his life with  _all_ of his body parts, not just a select few.

Once he entered Gringotts his grip around Scorpius tightened as he felt the prying eyes of dozens zoom straight to him. He was used to it by now but his son was an entirely different story. When they had allowed Scorpius to make his debut to the Wizarding World, he vividly remembered being bombarded by the flashing cameras and dozens of reporters throwing their questions at him and Hermione. Neither of them ever responded to the insistent demands and after Hermione had conjured a useful spell that kept a three feet proximity shield, he hardly became flustered by them or even remembered they were there. But years later, the adamant reporters and their flashing cameras had died down drastically and it was a good day if he spotted less than four. However, the damage had been done as it had become a habit by now to cover Scorpius' eyes with his own hand when someone so much as turned in their direction, just in case they conjured a camera and its blinding flashes.

He stayed indifferent, showing the people nothing, and as he realized none of them were going to be sending pictures to Rita Skeeter or any of the other tiresome sources, he made his way to the front of the columned row where the head goblin sat. His footsteps seemed to echo against the marbled floor and he didn't bother to glance around at the waiting customers as they were tended by the goblins designated for the more...common wizards and witches. The Malfoy vaults had and always would be one of Gringotts top concerns so every transaction or deposit had to be done by the goblin in charge and that usually resulted in a quick dash to and from the bank without any hassle.

But for Scorpius, it was apparent that he wanted nothing to do with the long, pointed ear creatures with the beady eyes as he squirmed slightly in his arm. He had turned his little head away from the desk and leaned over to point his arms at the ground, opening and closing his fists as a sign that Draco was all too familiar with. Instead of refusing his son's wishes and unleashing a furious toddler on the public, he bent down to place Scorpius' feet onto the floor. In one short moment, he watched as Scorpius stood silently by his side, one hand leached onto his trouser leg, and peered around the room with curious eyes. As he decided that his son was comfortable, he turned his attention onto the awaiting goblin.

He swore that he had only turned away for less than a minute...less than half of one. He remembered taking his wand out of his pocket for identification and he remembered the goblin's greedy grin as he pulled out a bag of galleons from the other. He remembered watching as the goblin's attention diverted over his shoulder and he remembered how the beady eyes widened in shock. But the thing he could remember the most, that would forever be embedded into his memory, was the fear that shot through his body as he turned his head back towards his son.

When his heart had dropped, it felt like the world did too.

Less than a yard away, Scorpius was looking up with wide, innocent silver eyes as he stared at the twisted face of an enraged man in dark robes, a wand pointed directly down at his head.

He remembered that he ripped his wand from the goblin's hold without taking his eyes off of Scorpius and a woman shrieked in the distance as the man's voice began to cry out. "Ava-"

Before anyone could blink, he had aimed his wand and shouted the Killing Curse in a single breath as if his life depended on it, because it  _did_. His war skills outweighed whatever the man held and he watched breathlessly as the green streak rammed right into the man's chest, stopping him from completing the curse on his tongue. In a single motion, Draco had crossed the room and hoisted Scorpius back into his arms before the man's body had fallen to the ground.

The  _thud_ , however, bounced across everyone's ear drums.

After that, everything had blurred together as he gripped onto his son's body. Scorpius had wrapped his arms tightly around his neck and had his head buried into the crook of his arms. He remembered that several people had crowded around, many making sure that Scor was alright but he had to raise one of his arms to keep them at bay. The security officers had already approached the motionless body, and pried the wand away from stiff fingers. They had turned the man onto his back, allowing a view of the man's face, and Draco clenched his jaw as the familiar features dawned on him. It had been one of Hermione's...avid...fans; one that had been obsessed with her even in their years at Hogwarts and hadn't been silent on his outrage at their marriage or even when Scorpius had been announced.

Cormac McLaggen had tried to kill their son, the expression on his face still stuck in its angered form. This was a man that had fought for the light, a man that had joined Dumbledore's Army to fight against Death Eaters...not children, not  _toddlers_.

He clutched Scorpius to his chest, his limbs shaking from the terror and adrenaline that had pumped through his veins. "Never trust anyone, son," he whispered into Scorpius' ear, his hand gently cupping the back of his son's small skull. "There is no such thing as good people in this world, always remember that. You have to get  _them_ before they get  _you_."

They had slept in Scorpius' room that night, both on either side of him and locking him into the safety of their embrace. Their son had his head buried into Hermione, her arms tightly wrapped around his small frame and lips resting on his forehead. She hadn't let him go since they got home and it was only now that she was letting the silent tears shed as their son was fast asleep. His own arm was draped across her waist and resting firm against her back, rubbing as soothly as he could as she looked up at him.

"We could've lost him," she whispered to him, her voice cracking in heavy emotion. "I-I can't l-lose him..." Her fingers gently skimmed through Scor's hair as she raked her teary eyes over his sleeping body. "I can't."

His heart was breaking as he watched his wife. Today had been too close...parents weren't supposed to deal with things like this.  _She_ wasn't supposed to live her life with the possibility of her child being shot dead in Diagon Alley, she was supposed to be a praised war-heroine. They were supposed to love her and any child she birthed regardless of the parentage. Could people truly hate him that much that they would kill  _her_ child? She was so good, so pure, even after the war and the horrors they had all seen and lived through. She hadn't survived to go through this shit.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered, just as broken as she was. The tears were starting to spring forward and he didn't care if it made him look weak. This was his son, his only child that had nearly been taken away from them by a bastard that was lucky to be dead. Merlin knew that if he weren't...Draco would stop at nothing until McLaggen begged for death.

Hermione's head shot back up to him, one of her arms releasing their son to cup the side of his face. His eyes closed at the contact and leaned further into her palm. "This wasn't your fault," she said to him. "You saved him, Draco. If you hadn't done what you did…" her voice trailed off as she looked back down as their slumbering toddler, both of them knowing the alternative outcome that could have resulted from today. "I don't blame you. I blame that - that…" She took a deep breath as her eyes scanned his face, locking on his gaze to reassure him of her words. "I'm glad that you killed him, Draco." Hermione took hold of his hand and brought it to her face, breathing in his scent as she kissed his fingers. "He tried to take our son away. Promise me," her face was flush against his hand, her breath warm on his fingers even as her tears spilled onto his flesh. "Promise me no one will take him from us."

His reply was immediate, knowing he had every intention in never letting anything or anyone touch their son. She knew that but it was as if her body needed to be put at ease as she still clutched at Scorpius.

"I promise."

oOoOoOoOo

_3 years ago…_

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs, chest heaving as he stared at the scene before him. It made his blood boil as his father shrugged his shoulders, meeting his gaze with not a problem in the world as if this was normal...as if it was normal for  _this_ to be happening. His attention was darting between the two of them, trying to decipher where to start first and exactly what he was supposed to do in this situation. He was running his fingers through his pale hair, tugging on the ends as he stared at his father. He couldn't look at...not right now. He couldn't deal with Scorpius just yet.

Lucius flicked a piece of lint off of his robes and had the audacity to smirk, sending an amused glance towards his grandson. "We were just having a bit of fun," he remarked slyly as if Draco had caught them in a round of Wizarding Chess or an Archery Shoot Out not… "Honestly, it isn't a problem that you are making it out to be."

"Not a problem!?" Draco echoed in disbelief. "What part of this  _isn't_ a problem!?"

His father pursed his lips, beginning to look annoyed. "It was a business deal gone wrong," Lucius said slowly, meticulously as if Draco would believe any word of his utter bullshit. "It was either him or me and I wasn't going to sit here and let a wizard come into  _my_ home-"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he was chanting as his father continued to drone on. He had started to pace around the drawing room floor, hands fully embedded in his hair as he contemplated what the hell he needed to do.

"-I had no other choice. If it makes you feel better, I am technically the one who killed him. I administered the Killing Curse-"

Draco scoffed as if his father's words were supposed to literally make him feel any different. Was his father actually being serious?!

"-Everything will be  _fine_. I'll dispose of the body," Lucius was thoroughly ignoring his freak out even as he stared down at the dead body with nothing but resentment. He had seen plenty of dismembered bodies; ones with missing limbs or organs spilled out on their shiny floor or even ones completely severed in half. Seeing a dead body wasn't what had him crazed out of his mind, no, it was seeing his son covered in the man's blood. It was fucking  _everywhere,_ across his trousers and polo shirt, dashed across his pale forehead and into his hairline, morbidly dying his hair with crimson streaks. But it was unsettling to see Scorpius just  _sitting_ there, hands resting on his knees as he sat just inches away from the man's corpse and looking up at him as if there was nothing wrong with it, as if it were fucking normal to be caught doused in a man's blood or even that the knife was still clenched in his hand.

"Nothing about this is fine, father!" He strided across the room and pulled Scorpius away from the puddle of vermillion, his grip strong despite slipping several times across his son's wet clothes. "He's eight! How will this be fucking  _fine_!? How am I to tell his mother when she sees him practically drowned in someone's blood!? HOW, FATHER!? TELL ME!"

"You don't!" Lucius hissed. "You don't tell Hermione and she will never know. If you want-"

"What I want is for you to explain how the fuck you allowed him to be in the room while you had a business deal! I want you to explain how he -" Draco reached down and carefully took the knife away from Scor before throwing it down onto the floor, towards Lucius, with a loud clatter, "- had the family blade! What I want is for you to tell me how HE IS COVERED IN BLOOD! What did you do!?"

Lucius watched on silently and waited until Draco was done before he pulled an unfamiliar wand out of his robe pocket. "I unarmed him," he simply said, as if it would make perfect sense. "I took his wand and threw a few Crucio's before I decided that I had heard enough. After that, I immobilized him and...well,-"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Well, what?"

Lucius sighed heavily as he rolled his silver eyes, identical to the ones both Draco and Scorpius had inherited. "I encouraged my grandson to do whatever the hell he wished. We both know that the man wasn't going to be leaving this Manor alive, that is."

"You gave him the knife? That was the knife that was used to torture Ollivander and-and  _countless_ others yet you  _gave_ it to him, as if it's a fucking toy!?"

"Yes, I did and don't think for one second that I regret it!" Lucius spat. "It's fine time that he learns how to defend himself."

He glared heavily at his father. "He doesn't own a wand yet!"

"You don't need a wand to learn how to  _kill_ , son. You, of all people, should know that," his father gave him a pointed look that effectively made him cringe. He hated being reminded of the war, he had suffered enough. They all had.

Draco shook his head, turning back to look at Scor. His son had been watching their argument silently, knowing it was better to not interfere. Draco bent down onto his knees as he inspected Scorpius, raising each arm to make sure there were no cuts that needed to be healed or any signs of bruises starting to show. He remembered his mother doing the same every time he left a Death Eater gathering or arrived home from a raid. It was all she could do in those times.

"Son...are you okay?" he asked as gently as he could, not knowing if Scorpius had gone into shock or was simply as fine as any normal day. The boy had always been exceptionally well at hiding what he was truly feeling.

Wordlessly, Scorpius nodded his hair that was starting to turn pink; the blood had seeped through his silk locks and was starting to bleed into the strands unaffected by the original streams. The blood on his forehead, however, had already dried and was starting to crack against his son's skin.

He frowned at Scor's silence. "I need you to talk to me, Scor. Please, tell me how you feel."

His small chest expanded as he took in a deep breath, nodding his head once more before his mouth opened up. "I feel fine, Father. Honestly, I really do."

Draco bowed his head, training his eyes on the floor as he thought of what to do next. He tried desperately not to focus on the bloody shoe prints that Scorpius had left in his wake nor the dried blood that encased his son's small fingers. There was no way he would be able to tell Hermione...how would he even  _begin_ to explain? How would she react? She wasn't like him...she hadn't been raised around this sort of brutality nor had she ever been close to someone so young to do it. He had been sixteen when he had been ordered to kill Dumbledore yet she had insisted he had been nothing but a boy...so what would she think of her own son? A baby? Children weren't supposed to be exposed to this type of violence. He couldn't find the will to admit to her that  _their_ son had helped murder someone, it was too much. She didn't need to know. She  _couldn't_ know.

Slowly, he brought his head back up to his son. "You will not breath a  _word_ of this to your mother, do you understand?" Scorpius was already nodding his head but Draco needed him to know the magnitude of what had happened here. His young mind couldn't have possibly properly processed this..."I'm serious, Scor. She can't know about this. None of it -"

"Can I keep the knife? I won't play with it, I promise," Scorpius blurted out, his eyes full of hope and longing that Draco couldn't possibly deny him. It  _was_ an antique and a damn expensive one at that. If Scorpius wanted to keep it, he didn't see anything wrong with it as long as he acted responsibly with it.

He wordlessly nodded his head as he turned towards his own father, hardening his gaze so Lucius would know to not go against him. "Hermione doesn't find out. Not even about the business deal."

"And the knife?" Lucius asked with a questionable brow, walking over to slide the blade into his hand. "She'll see it eventually."

He turned towards Scor and quickly came up with an excuse. "Say it was for his birthday since it was just a few days ago. Say you thought it was time to hand it to him but you had been debating it. She won't question your hesitation on giving him a weapon, she'll understand. Mother won't find out about this either, correct?"

Lucius nodded his head with a wave of his hand. "This stays between the three of us, no one else."

"Right," Draco confirmed as strongly as he could but his mind was still racing at the turn of events. It was going to be hard enough to lie to Hermione but this was for the best.  _She didn't need to know_ , he had to keep reminding himself. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and began to Scourgify the blood away from Scorpius' body; watching as the red stains magically seeped away from his son and into thin air. Slowly, his hair became the signature Malfoy blonde, his drenched shirt turned back into the light grey, and his shoes and trousers were cleaned of any remnant stains. From behind them, Lucius had magically wiped away all of the blood that had clung onto the knife.

As Scorpius was cleaned from head to toe, Lucius had walked forward and slid the blade into his awaiting hands, a pleased smile firmly on his lips as his eyes drank in its appearance. Draco, however, was quick to usher him towards the door to prevent him from accidentally getting into any of the blood sloshed across their grand floor. He stood beside his father as they both watched Scorpius leave the room and it wasn't until the door closed behind the eight year old that Draco broke his silence.

"What have you done?" It had came out as a whisper but on the inside...on the inside, Draco was screaming.


	11. Chapter 11

Albus had been awakened by faint voices, a conversation he wasn't part of but could hear almost word for word as a soft woman's voice drifted through his skull. For a split second he had almost been foolish enough to think that it had been his mother until he peeked through his lashes and silently watched from across the room as Hermione roused Scorpius awake. He felt a pang of jealousy when Hermione placed a kiss upon Scorpius' forehead as the blonde sat up in his bed, rubbing the sleep from his grey eyes and looking up at his mother in pure adoration. It had made him think off the times his own mother would do the same, before she had fallen ill. He stayed quiet as his eyes absorbed the scene before him.

A smile had slipped across Scor's face and Albus could see how natural it looked, how unforced and meaningful it appeared as he gazed up at Hermione, his mother. A bond between a mother and son could never be faked. It's what his mother had always told him. He could feel the unshed tears build up in his sight but he refused to let them fall. He didn't want to cry anymore, his nose was still stuffy from the night before.

"Angel, we're leaving in an hour," Hermione said as she sat down on the edge of Scorpius' bed, gently prying the sheets her son had cocooned around his body during the night. She was still gazing at him as he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, grinning softly down at him. "Honestly, you're just like your father," she whispered softly just as she pecked Scorpius' cheek.

The blonde let a small chuckle leave his lips before he two began to talk so gently to Hermione that Albus couldn't hear their sentences anymore. He could only watch as the two conversed with one another that was entirely familiar and exclusive that it made Albus feel as if he was intruding on them. He should've turned back into the plush pillows or buried his head with the blanket the Malfoys had provided him with; anything but continuing to stare, letting his eyes linger on the pair and absorbing every detail through their interactions. What he wouldn't give for the slightest-

His thoughts shattered as he watched grey eyes snap to his. They were cold and cutting, reminding him from the day before when Scorpius had aimed an arrow at his head. He swallowed down thickly as the smile the blonde had had seconds before melted from his sight as if a switch had been flicked. The boy across from him was looking at him blankly, devoid of any and every emotion known to man.

To his relief, Hermione turned as she followed her son's line of sight and straightened up when she found his eyes looking back at her. "Oh," she said in surprise. "Goodmorning, Albus. I didn't know you were awake or else I would've talked to you first," she smiled at him, her perfect teeth beaming towards him meaningfully. It had been too long since he had seen a smile like that. She rose from the bed and as she did, Scor's gaze focused on her as she took a handful of steps towards Albus' bed. Instead of approaching him like she had done to Scorpius, she simply asked if he had a restful sleep. He had answered immediately that he had but from across the room, Scorpius smirked, both of them knowing he was lying through his teeth. Nightmares had been rough last night and there was no doubt that Scorpius hadn't heard one of his outbreaks.

She nodded her head with a smile before turning back towards her son. "One hour, and we're leaving," she said, before leaving through the door. Albus' emerald gaze stared at it longingly. Her departure was instantly felt, as if all the warmth and love went out with her. It seemed that all mothers held that ability. His certainly had.

From his place across the room, Scorpius' eyes narrowed. He pushed himself off of his bed in one strong motion and crept across the floor to the door that hid his closet. With his back turned towards Albus, he pulled it open and disappeared inside. It didn't take him long to find his trunk and throw it onto the floor when he reappeared into the room, a bit more forceful when he noticed Albus was still in the bed.

"Are you going to lay there all day?" he said with a bite. "Or are you going to obey what my mother said and get your things together?"

Albus at least had the decency to flush in embarrassment as he got up from his position. "My things are already together," he pointed out. "I just need to-"

"There's a guest bathroom at the end of the hall," Scorpius interrupted him. "Last door on the left." He'd've slammed Albus' skull into the ground if he had dared use his own private bathroom. He never shared.

Albus wordlessly nodded his head before rummaging through his small suitcase and heading for the door. As soon as the door clicked behind him, Scorpius shot forward, sliding his trunk across the floor to his bed. With haste, he dropped to his knees and peered underneath his bed, grinning as he spotted the dull metal laying in the shadows. Carefully, as if reaching for a forbidden artifact, his fingers found its edge and pulled it into the light. The trap he and his grandfather had purchased from Knockturn Alley heavily resembled a muggle bear trap but its claws, when activated, sent a deadly mist into the air that would rot the flesh of any animal or human at its mercy. The shopkeeper had said it was outlawed in nearly every country, a nasty little thing like that should never be bestowed upon the public. The old man had said it with a crooked grin and had urged him to come back to inform him of the device's capabilities. Even now, with the device tucked away in his arms, he could feel the dark power radiating around it like a cloud - heavy and taunting, begging to be used.

"Almost," he whispered, not finding it ridiculous that he was actually talking to it. He rotated his torso and leaned to place the trap inside his trunk. However, just as he bent forward, his eyes widened as he heard his door opening. His mouth was already getting ready to start spewing explanations but they died on the tip of his tongue as he swirled around.

Albus had walked in with a toothbrush in his hand, his eyes looking questionably at the device in his hands. "What is  _that_?"

"What do you want, Albus?!" he managed to control his voice from cracking in rage.

"There's no toothpaste in the bathroom," Albus answered but his curious eyes were glued to the trap. "What is that?" he repeated.

Scorpius finally placed it in his trunk before slamming the lid shut. He still had to pack his clothes but he didn't want Albus getting too nosy. Did the boy not take his warning seriously from before? Curiosity didn't only kill the cat, it would do it mercifulness and without remorse.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "It's nothing," he tried to brush it off as if it truly was that. "I've been meaning to take it to our other house, that's all."

Albus nodded his head in understanding but Scorpius could still see the want there, the simple urge to know. "But what is-"

"There's toothpaste through that door," he nodded towards his bathroom door. Every fiber in his being was cursing in outrage but Scorpius was quick to tamper it down. If he had to sacrifice a bit of toothpaste, it wasn't as if he gave a damn. Anything was less worse than having Albus learn the true nature of his new device. "Hurry up, Albus," he urged the boy forward with a gentle shove towards his bathroom door. "We can't be late or else my parents will skin us alive."

That seemed to be the drive that Albus needed because soon, he was scurrying across the floor as fast as lightning. This time, when the door was closed in his departure, Scorpius already had the lid of his truck opened and threw every random article of clothing he could get his hands on into it. He didn't release a breath of relief until the lid was, once again, snapped shut and hidden away from eyesight.

oOoOoOoOo

"I take it neither of them killed each other?" Draco asked with a raised brow, watching over the edge of his cup of coffee as Hermione took her seat beside him. She didn't appear frazzled and she hadn't come running into the room screaming in horror, so it seemed that Scorpius had acted on his best behavior with the Potter boy.

Hermione had giggled his worry aside though, waving her hand into the air as if such a thing would never happen, not because of  _their_ son. She had taken to her own cup of warm coffee as she quickly skimmed the headlines of the Daily Prophet, not meeting his gaze as he looked her over. In truth, Draco had gotten up numerous times throughout the night because he hadn't been able to brush aside the tick of worry that had shoved itself inside his skull. He would sneak all the way up to Scorpius' bedroom and softly pry the door open, careful of making sure the door didn't reveal his worrisome visits. Each separate time he would swallow down the thickness in his throat, seconds before entering his son's bedroom, he half expected to find his son drenched in the boy's blood. When he would resettle into his own bed, he would strain his ears to try and hear for the screams he knew would be silent. He had even taken to watching the door, waiting for either one of them to come running in. Either Albus in pure terror or Scorpius clutching the family knife in his small hands, a dark liquid dripping from the tip.

He blinked himself back into reality when Hermione turned her attention to him. "Ginny owled me this morning," she began. "Told me that they would be glad to visit us this afternoon at the London house."

"I figured as much," he replied, bringing up his drink towards his lips. "It's rare they ever decline an invitation."

Hermione eyed him curiously. "But that's just the thing, love. Ginny and Blaise never receive an invitation because they're always welcomed in our homes. What makes this time so different that you felt obliged to owl them to join us?"

"Albus Potter is what makes the difference," he said without looking at her. "I extended an invitation to Blaise so that Axel would accompany Scorpius and Albus. The more the merrier, you know?"

Hermione's brows raised slightly, a curve playing at her mouth. "Says the one who always says I have too many friends? Better yet, says the one who refuses to have more than two at a time?" He grunted in reply, telling her that he was always an exception. She ignored him with an amused eye roll. "Besides, even if Axel wasn't to join them, Scor and Albus would be fine on their own. I see the beginning of a very strong friendship between the two."

He halted the movement of his cup, turning serious as he looked towards his wife. "Do you really believe that?"

Her honey brown eyes focused on his own, captivating like always but he could see the worry beneath it all. Silently, he watched as she swallowed before shaking her head wordlessly.

He exhaled through his nose, placing his cup on the table before taking hold of her hand into his own. He brought it up to his face, letting his lips graze over her knuckles before turning her palm up to leave a kiss in the middle. He could feel her body relax by the second as he held her hand to his face, his breath fanning over her pale flesh. Just as he opened his mouth to address her, the doors of the dining room opened and two small figures walked in; one striding with purpose and the other following like a timid shadow.

"Are we eating breakfast here?" Scorpius said with a tilt of his head. His arms were crossed in the front of his chest and he looked immensely impatient as he stood before them. If their son would've started to tap his foot, it would have been a near copy of Hermione. However, Scorpius was no foot tapper and it didn't bode well when he awoke with a temper. Draco could see the red flag for what it was and immediately turned his silver gaze towards Albus, inspecting him for any signs of harm.

But the boy was clean from head to toe, despite what appeared to be a smudge of toothpaste on the collar of his shirt. Typical Potter, was all Draco could think.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Is that okay with the two of you? I figured you would want to explore around when we arrive at the other house instead of being trapped inside eating breakfast," she said with a smile. "The Zabini's will be joining us later as well, so I doubt you three boys are going to stay indoors anyways."

Scorpius perked up, sending a quick sly glance at Albus beside him. "Axel will be joining us?"

She nodded her head. "Just for today, yes. They'll be traveling to Italy to visit Axel's grandmother for a week afterwards."

Draco watched as Scorpius made his way to the table, frowning slightly as he situated into the chair. Albus hadn't missed a beat to follow after him.

"Axel doesn't like her," he said as he began to fill his plate with scrambled eggs. "Says she smells like she bathes in dozens of different perfumes and mothballs from her fur coats. Almost smothered him to death one time with one of them."

"A mothball?" Albus asked with furrowed brows.

Scorpius let his fork drop, clanging against the porcelain in front of him. "No," he drawled out. "A fur coat."

"Oh," the boy replied in return. His hands were fidgeting on the table top, fingering the sides of his plate as his eyes stared down. "My...mother never owned a fur coat."

Scorpius slowly glanced at him from the side, his eyes calculating Albus' posture. "Then consider yourself grateful that you've never been in Axel's position. Suffocation would be a terrible way to go…" Scor's voice trailed off.

Draco swallowed uneasily as he noticed so had his son's attention.

From beside him, Hermione had quickly taken another drink of her coffee.


	12. Chapter 12

"How many houses does your family own?" Albus' voice rang out, scratching at Scorpius' eardrums as he led his companion down the pale halls of the London Manor. The house was much warmer than the others, with rare splashes of color dashed around for the effect of welcoming their guests but Scorpius didn't have an eye for appeal as such. He liked the darker interiors like those in Malfoy Manor, with oxy blacks so colorless that they seemed to swallow him up and granites that were hard to the touch. This house was... _fine_...but it wasn't his home. There was a very distinct difference between the two and he doubted someone like Albus would understand. To the boy beside him, it was as grand as the Buckingham Palace- or something of that stature; regal and enriched as if for members of the royal family. Scorpius hadn't bothered trying to explain that in the Wizarding World, the Malfoy's  _were_ royalty because he knew it would somehow result in an admission on his part that the name Potter was just as such, even if they didn't have an eighth of the amount of treasures in their vaults. Not even a  _tenth_. So, he simply stayed quiet and continued to lead Albus around to show him the house as his mother had suggested. The top floor had taken less than ten minutes and Scorpius had hoped the ground floor would be the same but Albus had began to ask  _questions_ , much to his disdain, and they had yet to get to the East Wing.

At Albus' question, he shrugged, knowing it would be rude to turn a cold shoulder onto his houseguest. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "I think there's seven Manors but I've lost count of all the company properties. It's not something that I keep up with."  _Nor care about._

Albus' mouth dropped open. "Seven houses…" he repeated dumbly. "How-"

"The Malfoy family is old money," Scorpius droned on. It was like clockwork, wired into his brain after countless hours hearing his grandfather teach him of their lineage. "We own several businesses but our main one is the family corporation. My father runs it now but it's been handed down throughout the generations."

"So then one day it'll be yours?"

Scorpius slowed his steps, raising his brows at the other boy. "Considering I am the sole Malfoy heir, then yes. My father would rather die than have to give the company to someone that wasn't... _us_. And even if he tried to," he let out a scoff, "I'm more than positive that my grandfather would hex him at the thought." He watched as several emotions flickered across Albus' face.

"Well what if your parents have another child? Does that mean-"

"My parents aren't having any other children," he snapped. All amusement he had had vanished, his face dropping in the blink of an eye. But immediately, he knew he had been in the wrong. He wasn't  _supposed_ to be getting loud with Albus. He was supposed to be making a new friend.  _Good son. Good son. Good son_. It was getting harder and harder to remember the longer he stayed in close proximity to Albus. He just wasn't used to this, being constantly followed like- like- a  _prisoner_. He was becoming a prisoner in his home. At the thought, he could feel the familiar tingle creep up his spine, seeping into his bloodstream in outrage. He had to clench his jaw hard to fight the urge and forced his attention off of Albus towards a door that led to the outdoor terrace, something - anything - to get his thoughts shifted from his inner turmoil. With an awkward clearing of his throat, he tried to ease back into an atmosphere of comfort for the two - or more specifically, Albus. "You know, cause they have their hands full with me," he threw out a chuckle. The upturn of the corners of his lips was painful against the real emotions that threatened to show and he turned to grin teasingly at Albus, further straining himself beyond his abilities.

But Albus, as always, stayed oblivious and let out his own bark of a laugh, stepping up beside him to look out of the windows. "That's a shame then," he mumbled softly, almost as if it were only for his ears to hear, however, Scorpius' hearing had perked up at the whisper and his eyes flicked over to the other, closely analyzing Albus' face.

"Why's that?"

Albus flinched slightly, his face morphing into surprise that he had heard. A blush began to tint his cheeks as he looked down at his feet. The expression instantly gained Scorpius' attention and he couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

"It's just…" Albus slowly began, looking entirely unsure of himself. "Your mother is very affectionate, the way she acts and treats others...there's so many kids out there that would kill for a mother like her. It's almost as if it's unfair that all of her affection goes directly to you. Y'know?"

Scorpius let his gaze linger, not knowing exactly how to respond. He couldn't refute Albus' words because they had all been true. His mother was affectionate, there was no doubt about it, but what was he to say? That he was unhappy that there were children in the world without a mother or that he was unhappy there weren't more children that  **his** mother's affections? Both of them would have been lies on his part because he didn't give a damn about the other children in the world and there wouldn't ever be other children that his parents had. He didn't have to waste his time on the matter because it would never happen. There was just no logical point and his mother had always taught him to take matters into account from a logical standpoint.

But, to appease Albus, he pretended to nod his head in understanding, dragging his stormy gaze back out towards the window. There was several long minutes of silence that passed between the two of them as they simply looked out the window. It was entirely uncomfortable for Scorpius as he could practically feel Albus' emotions radiating from his being. Emotions weren't a good thing to have and it was even worse to show them to others. The boy was far too reckless for his own good. He was too  _weak_ and it would only be a matter of time before the Potter's enemies got a whiff of his vulnerability and pounced on him as fast as the Killing Curse. Scorpius was nearly drenched in it from his position, that's how  _bad_ Albus' emotions reeked. It seemed that the fastest way to destroy someone from the inside out was to kill their someone they loved, at least that's what Scorpius gathered from Albus. The absence of the matriarch figure was breaking Albus, pulling him apart piece by piece and in his misery, Scorpius had to fight the grin that threatened to appear. He had to swallow down his laughter as he glanced in the other's direction. There was something awfully silly about the depressed emotion on someone's face.

"Do you want to know what  _I_ think?" he asked, raising a curious brow. At Albus' nod, he continued, "People have a tendency to hear and see what they want because they're afraid of destroying their own illusions," he said as he watched the leaves in the trees sway in the wind in unison. "Children are the same with their parents. We look up to them because they're the ones that know us the best and essentially they are the ones we become. Our mothers and fathers mean the world to us because they  _are_ our world. But, you see," he tilted his head to the side as a flock of birds flew threw the yard, "that's where the illusions begin. A parent's love for their child is forgiving and patient when all others are forsaking. It never fails or falters even when it's suppose to. But like our parents, children chose what they want to see and that's where the downside is. When parents see no wrong, then the children will see no wrong. Ignorance is the root and stem of every sin."

Albus' brows furrowed slightly, turning his head to look at him. "Are you saying that your mother's affections are an illusion to myself?"

"In a sense, yes," Scorpius didn't turn. "You've just lost your own mother so you automatically cling to the closest one you can find. Which I don't blame you because my mother  _is_ affectionate, I mean, she allowed you to stay in our  _house_ despite how-" he cut himself off with a forced swallow. "There's always a line that we chose to ignore, Albus. If the moment would come down to it, my mother would push you aside if she had to - if it meant she got to myself or my father - and she wouldn't spare you a glance. My mother's affection has limitations but you can't see it because of your ignorance." It was then that he tore his gaze away from the window and turned towards Albus, watching him carefully. He was waiting for the subtlest sign of Albus' composure crumbling; like a snake watching its prey before it sunk its fangs into the flesh, drawing blood and watch it pool beneath his body.

But Albus could only stare, shaking his head back and forth. He didn't believe him, Scorpius knew, and there wasn't much keeping him from shaking his own head in disbelief at Albus' sheer stupidity. It was truly fascinating to watch an individual so... _fickle_ , getting to watch them up close and personal to see their flaws and think of all the ways to submit them against their own will. It would be tricky with someone as guarded as Albus but the possibility was still there, challenging him otherwise. Scor, however, didn't know if the challenge would be worth the trouble.

"You're wrong."

The breath he had taken got stuck in his esophagus. It had felt like he had been doused in a tub of ice cold water; like Albus had directly slapped him hard across the face and a bright red print was etched in his cheek.  _Wrong_. What an abnormal word to be associated with someone like him. He couldn't even recall if anyone had ever said that word to him before. It made him feel inapt, a stranger in his own body as he stared in outrage at Albus.

"I'm sorry?" his voice had taken a hard tone.

Albus nodded his head slowly, a stupid aloof smile on his face as he dared to meet molten silver. "I  _said_ ," he exaggerated, and Scor saw red tint his vision, "you're wrong - about your mom. I think it would matter about the circumstances if she were to have to choose someone over another."

Scor's brows furrowed. He was eyeing the other individual with avid attention trying to decipher if Albus really could be this-this  _fucking unbelievable_! He could feel his face twitching as it ached to show emotion, a subtle sneer or a frown or something. "My mother would never choose you over me, Albus. She's only known you for a day."

Albus shrugged, that stupid smile still on his face and Scor wanted nothing more than to reach across the space between them and tear into the boy's flesh until there was nothing left. "I don't know, I think she likes me. My dad and her have been friends for years-"

" _Estranged_ ," he corrected. "They haven't talked in years until your father sent that letter crying like a-" but when Albus' brows skyrocketed into his hairline, Scor was quick to swallow down his words. He couldn't go there...couldn't speak those words. "My mother may care for many people but you're incredibly dense if you believe you mean more to her than I do. That would be like saying your mother would choose me over  _you_." The words had spewed from his mouth before he had realized it. He knew it was a low blow to bring up the dead Mrs. Potter but at this point, Scorpius didn't give a flying fuck.

"Like I said before, it would matter on the circumstances," Albus finalized.

He scoffed as he forced his head away. He could no longer deal with Albus' arrogance and needed to occupy his mind with something other than strangling the boy with his bare hands. It was one of the hardest things he had ever faced in his life. Albus deserved to be taught a lesson. He deserved-

Scor turned around as he heard footsteps frantically running up the stairs. From the corner of his eye, he saw Albus tense, his green eyes wide and scared as they awaited the individual who was approaching but from the sounds of the movement, Scor knew exactly who it was. A pair of brothers, one as refined as him and the other as wild as the night.

Talon was the first one to reach the top of the stairs, his chest heaving in excitement and exhaust from his rapid movements but nonetheless he smiled, a toothless smile, when he caught sight of him. If there was anyone that Scorpius considered innocent, the seven year old before him was it. Yes, there were times when Talon was beyond tolerable but the boy was still someone that Scor held of importance, him and -

"Part of me swore my parents were trying to pull some sad prank but I knew they could've done better. Still, it was easier to believe than you having a new friend, especially someone with such a... _proclaimed_  surname," Axel drawled out, briefly dismissing Albus as he turned and focused on him. "However, it appears that miracles do happen." The boy crossed his tanned arms and raised his brows in astonishment.

"It appears so," Scor muttered dryly. Axel didn't bother to hide his grin of amusement at his disdain but it was quickly smothered when Talon raced to stand in front of Albus.

If Albus was being honest, he hadn't seen so much energy cooped up in one small body in a very,  _very_ long time. The young boy reminded him oddly of a firework, crackling with energy and happiness that he couldn't help but smile down at his small form. The boy was so much more refreshing compared to the cold exterior that Scorpius was and if he were to go by looks alone, the other boy didn't seem too friendly either. The older boy was dressed in dark robes and loafers that heavily resembled the ensemble that he had gotten used to Scor wearing but there was something in the boy's hazel stare that the Malfoy heir didn't possess. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was...but it was  _something_. However, he could feel Scor's friend's gaze harden when the younger brother ventured near.

"Is Harry Potter your father?" the young boy looked up at him with eager eyes. Albus barely had time to utter an awkward reply before the boy's tongue began to run loose again. "Do you like him? My father doesn't. Neither does Uncle Draco."

Axel sighed heavily. " _Talon_ ," he warned his younger brother. "Remember what mother said." Talon's eyes widened and he quickly clamped one of his hands over his mouth as he shuffled closer to his older brother. Axel slyly snaked one of his arms around Talon's shoulders and pulled him back. "Forget that," he forced a laugh. "Talon has quite the talent for making things up, right Scor?"

Scorpius blinked. Did he really need to  _lie_? He hadn't made a noise until he caught Axel's pointed glare in his direction.  _So much for nothing_ , he thought. "Yes," he left simply, finding that he didn't have the effort to elaborate. It wasn't what Axel had wanted but it would do it's job just fine. An excuse was always simply a string of lies and it hardly mattered how intricate it was thought out, especially for someone like Albus. A lie would still be a lie, there was no changing that.

As he knew, Albus nodded his head in acceptance of the weak lie and looked helplessly towards him. The look almost took Scor back in confusion until he realized that he hadn't introduced them to each other. Axel had been waiting for him to do so and it was apparent that Albus had too. It was easy to forget sometimes that people still expected propriety in simply moments like this. If it had been the other way around and he had been at the Zabini Manor when Axel had a friend over, he wouldn't have batted an eyelash in their direction he wouldn't have given a damn. He had expected that Axel would've been the same. Or maybe he was and it would just be rude for him to at least introduce himself. Scor had a funny feeling that it was the later and that Axel and Talon had been given an ear full before they arrived, just like his own mother had done so before Albus had shown up. Their mothers did have a tendency to do and say practically the same things. He mused that the two of them must have shared a moral compass and sat together sipping tea while they discussed their parenting methods. They were probably doing it right now…

"Albus, this is Axel-," he nodded towards the older boy before doing the same to the younger one "-and Talon Zabini. They're my…" He paused, not really knowing what to describe their relationship. They were definitely friends but the term didn't fit entirely. The two were more than that; they had all known each other the second they were brought into the world so family was the only word that Scor could think of but he wouldn't admit that aloud, not to Albus. "They're my parents godchildren."

That seemed to spike Albus' attention and his head swirled to gaze at the two brothers as if he had just seen them in a new light. "Hermione and Mr. Malfoy are your godparents?" Axel's brow twitched and his eyes quickly flickered to Scor but he stayed staring directly at Albus, unstirred.

"Uh, yes," Axel drawled out slowly. "Or at least they were the last time I checked." Talon's brows scrunched together as he quickly looked up at his brother in confusion, ready to spew his questions, but Axel's arm hurriedly looped loosely around the young boy's neck to silence him and, without looking down, grinned at Albus.

Albus, however, wasn't paying any mind and had his focus back on Scorpius. "I didn't know your parents had godchildren. Is there more? Do you know if-"

Scor rolled his neck in agitation and with a huff, he turned his head towards the window. "Let's go outside and get some fresh air," he suggested. It was quite random but he wasn't going to stand there and play fifty questions with Albus. "Besides, it's been  _far too long_  since I've gone outside."

Axel's eyes snapped towards him instantly but if Albus saw, he didn't comment on it. It was only when Talon laughed, abruptly turning to race back to the stairs, that snapped everyone back to life as the three of them followed after the seven year old.

oOoOoOoOoOo

She always enjoyed the small moments like this, the sheer bliss in everyday life. At one point in her life she had thought that she would have died young, another life lost in the brutality of war. She had been almost certain that she would have never lived past twenty. Being the best friend of the Chosen One and the world's most reclaimed Muggleborn, the chances of survival had been slim.  _Yet_ , here she was. Alive and well, with a family of her own. She knew that the way her life turned out was considered quite ironic to many, being the wife of one of the most ancestral pureblood family but somehow, that's what mattered the most to her now. The life she had lived so long ago seemed just like memories now, because that's all they were- just random glimpses into the past with people she didn't know anymore. Many had died while some simply disappeared into the abyss of life. Too many of her old friends had shunned themselves away from the life they had all known and stuck to themselves as much as they could. The nightmares of war and watching those you care about disappear, tended to have its effect on people and like she learned, it was better to let them go than to force them to readjust to the new Wizarding World.

But if there was anyone that she appreciated more than anyone else, it was the witch that had stuck with her through all of these long years. Ginny was one of the only connections she had left to her days at Hogwarts and really, the woman had become her sister after everything they had been through. It was perfect how everything turned out, despite the horridly rocky start they had each gotten after the war. Falling in love with despised pureblood men certainly hadn't bode well with the rest of Wizarding society and when the rest of the world shunned them, they had each other to support. Therefore, once their sons were born, it was as if all the pieces had fallen perfectly together. Life after the war had been everything she had never expected even with the small moments such as days like this, casually preparing lunch with her best friend as their children played together upstairs and their husbands shared a drink in the next room over. This was everything she had ever needed, the  _both_ of them.

"He looks  _just_ like Harry did as a child," she said as turned from the large stove. "I mean, he doesn't wear glasses but I swear when I first saw him, I thought I had somehow accidentally spun my time turner back a few decades."

"Right," Ginny said with a laugh. "As if your time turner could magically escape from its  _secured_ vault in the Ministry. Do you realize that there is more security in the wing that holds the time turners than there is in the entire building?"

Hermione gave her an amused look, one that Ginny understood immediately. Her redheaded friend knew that Hermione had been one of the individuals to establish the security around the time turners. She had made it one of her top priorities when she had been employed and made sure the Minister believed the same before she had left. No one needed to dive back into the past and unleash chaos upon the public... _again_.

"And Scor gets along with him?" Ginny asked with a raised brow.

She nodded her head, focusing her attention on the remnant ingredients still littering the island counter. "Well enough."

Ginny's brown eyes peered at her skeptically. "Is that a half-arsed answer or a trying-to-avoid-the-subject answer? Didn't Draco say he was going to teach you how to lie better?"

She scoffed, bringing up a glass to her lips. "I am an excellent liar, I'll have you know. Or did you happen to forget that I was the one who successfully got rid of Umbridge during my fifth year?"

"So," Ginny leaned onto the counter, her eyes bright, "you  _were_ trying to avoid the subject. "Is it on Scor's behalf or…"

"It's neither of their fault," Hermione admitted with a grimace. "It's mine, really. I all but threw Albus onto Scor and I know he's trying his best but...you can't just force children together and expect them to play together as if they're toddlers, Gin. Draco tried to tell me but I was so-" she waved her hand in the air " _-curious_  to see what Harry wanted after all of these years. Does that make me selfish for trying to help his son?"

"Of course it doesn't," Ginny shook her head. "You were doing the right thing. It was brave of you to even consider talking to him after he left, let alone take in his child. I...I don't know if I would've done the same."

She nodded her head silently, knowing that Ginny was speaking the truth. When her friend as Harry had split, it had been twice as ugly as her engagement to Draco. The things Harry had said about Ginny to her friends and family had been awful... there simply was no chance of reconciliation. Ever. And even if Ginny had the slightest thought for making it possible, Hermione knew that Blaise would never allow it. He wouldn't let her pride diminish at the hands of Harry again, and as much as it hurt to say, Hermione wouldn't blame him. She too still had so much abhorrence towards her old friend but by powers out of her understanding, she had felt pity for his children. She could never willingly abandon a child when she was needed but as wanted to help Albus, she couldn't comprehend -

"But you know what I don't understand, out of everything?" she brought the cup down and looked at Ginny. "Why would Harry owl me of all people? He has - had? - Ron and the rest of your family. I should have been the last person he considered but I  _wasn't_. Harry knew what he was asking of me  _and_ of Draco, yet he asked anyway. Doesn't that seem... _odd_?"

Ginny averted her gaze. "Blaise said the same thing, nearly word for word, actually," she said with a weak laugh, one that barely reached Hermione's ears. "I have no clue if Harry is still in contact with the  _others_ but when they find out he's  _back,_ they're going to demand answers. Heck, the entire Wizarding World is going to want answers and if they find out you had his son for all this time, don't you think the press is going to be all over you?"

She snorted, "I wasn't aware they ever left me alone."

"I'm serious Hermione," Ginny stared at her in disbelief. "With Harry back, it's going to be a huge -" she quickly turned her head towards the door and lowered her voice "-  _shitestorm_. Are you sure you want to be in the middle of this?  _Again_?"

"Of course not. I simply helped Harry's son, that's it," she said with reassurement. "Whatever happens after Albus leaves the care of my family, that's on Harry alone. I'm not going to be dragged into anything. I owe nothing to him or the rest of the Wizarding World and if he doesn't like it, then he can go to Ron or whoever else wants to bow at his feet. He dropped me like I was nothing, Gin. He acted as if a decade of friendship had meant nothing. As if all those times I stuck by his side held no importance to him and just like he did it to me, I can do it to him. Harry is nothing but a childhood friend now and I'm not going to get hauled into more  _drama_ because of him. I've done my part. All that matters to me are those in this house at this very moment."

Ginny nodded her head but Hermione knew her thoughts were flying thousands of miles per minute. Harry had yet to make his return public and already the tensions were starting to get high. Hermione knew how crazy it was going to get and she knew that Ginny did too. She knew that the both of them understood what that would mean for their families too. Even if neither of them ever talked to Harry again, their past relationships would haunt them.  _Ginny_ would, and always, be known as the girl who loved Harry and  _she_ , would and always be known as the third member of the Golden Trio. There was no escaping that and she had realized that  _long_ ago.

She sighed, deep in thought when Talon came zooming into the room and ran straight to her, wrapping his arms around her legs in a fierce hug. With a bright smile, she leaned down to pick him up and spotted the older three boys make their way into the kitchen.

"What are you young lads up to?" she said as she sat Talon onto the island counter, where he immediately dug into the small bowl of grapes she had gotten out. From the corner of her eye, she could see as Ginny wordlessly took Albus in, her eyes darting from the hairs on his head to the shoes on his feet. He was standing quietly by the farthest side of the counter, away from Ginny and was watching them all as they moved about.

Scorpius made his way to her side and snagged a few grapes of his own as Axel wordlessly grabbed a glass and poured himself a drink from the pitcher. "We're going to go outside for a bit," Scor answered. "I figured I'd show Albus the yard since we'll be here for the rest of his stay. Will that be alright?"

She nodded her head before she kissed the top of his head. "Only for a while, okay?" she said. "Dinner's almost ready."

A smile stretched across her son's face and nodded towards Axel. Both of the boys were quick to make their way towards the terrace doors, Albus following closely behind. She lowered her attention onto Talon when she realized he hadn't moved and at the sound of her voice, the older three had stopped their movement.

"Talon, don't you want to go play with them too?"

Her young godson brought his head up to her and sent the boys a quick glance. "No," he shook his head. "I wanna make cookies."

Ginny chuckled. "Of course," she shook her head. "My baby wants  _more_ sugar."

"Well," she bent down to retrieve a large bowl from one of the lower cabinets, "let's make cookies then." She laughed when Talon kicked out his legs in excitement as she placed a package of chocolate chips beside him and waved her hand at the boys when they continued on their way.

However, before the door shut completely, Axel stuck his head in through the door. "Can you please make some with oatmeal?"

She lifted a bag of fine oats and grinned at him. "Already on it, love."

"You're the best Aunt 'Mione," he smiled before he slipped out the door once more.

"Oh, believe me I know," she whispered, sharing a quick smile with Ginny just as she placed a chocolate chip on her tongue.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Is the boy... _normal_?"

Draco scoffed, tilting his head back as he let the firewhiskey slip down his throat.

"Well, come on mate, his name is  _Albus_. I knew Potter was practically in love with the old Headmaster but for Merlin's sake that's just weird. That would be like you naming Scor Severus."

"As if Hermione would've allowed that to happen. I praised Salazar when she agreed on a celestial name. At one point I was certain my first born was going to be named after an author."

A laugh escaped Blaise's mouth. "I remember that. It was either Henry or George," he shook his head in disbelief. "And then at one point didn't she consider Rudyard?"

"Yeah, that wasn't going to happen," he grimaced. They had spent hours deciding on their son's first name and when Hermione had taken the 'author' approach, he had begged for Ginny to talk her out of it. It had been a humiliating experience to willingly plead with his wife's best friend but desperate times had caused for desperate measures. There had been no way in hell that he would've named his son after another man, muggle or not. "Besides, nothing tops naming a child after a Weasley," he quirked, watching as Blaise threw him a glare.

"As you so correctly said, that wasn't going to happen."

"I don't know, Blaise. Eventually you'll run out of names if you keep spawning at this rate. What it is it with Weasley's having the complex of it being their sole duty to repopulate the Wizarding World?"

Blaise shook his head slowly, his eyes staring at the magical painting of a snake above the mantel. "I have no fucking clue. There has to be at least a dozen nieces and nephews that I don't know about. At least Weasel King had the decency to not  _bless_ the world with a child. Can you imagine  _that_?" he pretended to shudder.

He turned his head slightly to gaze questioningly at his friend. "You consider those children your family?" With a start, Draco realized that they had never talked about the other Weasley children before. It was quite odd considering he knew that there was a handful of them already but he had never once put himself in Blaise's shoes. He had never thought about it either. With being married to Hermione he didn't have to worry about keeping up with stray nieces and nephews because he didn't have any. It was all about Scorpius and his godchildren - Axel and Talon. And for Blaise he had always assumed it was the same.

Blaise shrugged, blinking his attention back to him. "I suppose it's pointless considering I'll never have to...I don't know...talk to them or whatever. I've never had to deal with Ginny's brothers and that ultimately disconnects us from the kids. I'm sure it would mean the world to her to have some huge,  _sappy_ family reunion but as long as I'm in the picture, that won't ever happen," he mumbled softly. "Hogwarts might be strange for Axel when he starts. I'm sure there's going to be a cousin of his in some year."

He silently nodded his head. It wasn't as if Axel was going to be devastated though. The boy was tough, a Slytherin through and through. The eldest Zabini didn't pity himself with things that didn't matter, much like Blaise did. And honestly, Axel would probably have a better start than the Weasley brood. Axel had been exposed to other children ranging around his age much like Scorpius had. Even though both of their families had handpicked who their children came into contact with, Draco knew through the Wizarding grapevine that the Weasley's kept to themselves only. They liked to pretend that they were all some proclaimed war heroes and that no one was good enough to be in their graces, only their blood. Which, now that he thought of it, might explain their uncanny ability to reproduce like rabbits.

"He'll be fine," he reassured him. "Knowing Axel, he'll purposefully bully them like there's no tomorrow."

With a laugh, Blaise lazily strolled towards the large window, still nursing the firewhiskey in his hand. "With our luck, the two of them-," he jutted his chin out the window where their sons were, "-are going to be worse than you, Goyle, and Crabbe. I can already see the howlers from McGonagall piling up on my desk."

"Not a chance," he shook his head. "Hermione and Ginny were two of her favorite students, remember?"

Blaise turned from the window, looking at him incredulously. "That's exactly why  _we're",_ he used his free hand to signal to the both of them, "going to get howlers. She probably hates that we married them. I'd be willing to bet that they all thought Ginny was going to end up with Potter while Hermione shacked up with the Weasel King." Draco opened his mouth to retort but Blaise was quick to silence him. "And  _ **don't**_ try to deny it, Draco."

"With all do respect I do think that McGonagall was the fairest professor we had. She didn't hold a bias against any of us and I doubt she would with the next generation. I would've said Slughorn but that man hated me for no damn reason."

"No damn reason?" Blaise grinned at him. "You can't think of  _one_ at all?"

"If you're implying that I was an arse-"

"You  _still_ are an arse."

"But I'm a  _better_ arse, and that's what matters."

Blaise snorted. "If that makes you sleep better at night, then sure," he flashed him a toothy smile before turning back around to gaze out the window. There were several seconds of silence that passed before Blaise cocked his head to the side. "What  _are they doing_?" he asked with a raised, elegant brow. His arm was perched alongside the windowframe as he leaned forward, dark eyes trained on something Draco couldn't see. His friend's expression was enough to spike his own curiosity and with a push out of his chair, he strided across the sitting room and stood beside Blaise, his own eyes scanning the yard until he caught the sight of his son. His brows furrowed as he took in the sight of Scorpius lying flat on his stomach along the pool edge with his hands stretched out across the surface. Even more stranger, Axel was doing the same. There was no telling what the two boys were doing and he nearly laughed at the sight until he realized that the boys weren't simply dipping their fingers into the pool just for the hell of it. Scorpius and Axel were trying and  _failing_ to grab the third boy who was thrashing in the water.

The tumbler slipped from his grasp and spilled its contents across the wooden floor just as he lept for the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Drowning was a strange feeling, an experience he could hardly wrap his semi-conscious mind around as his body fought for air. He knew he was dying, slowly and undeniably, as more and more water somehow found its way into his nose and mouth, filling his lungs up to the point where he feared they would explode. He felt like he was screaming, yelling for someone -  _anyone_ \- to help him but as the seconds dragged on, he knew that the water was shielding his panicked yells from reaching anyone's ears. No one could hear him.

This was how he was to die?

 _Suffocation_ ,  _must be a terrible way to go…_

In such a cruel form, was his life to be cut short at this young of age?

He was thrashing his arms and legs out violently, pleading to find any surface to grab, any edge to cling forward on. But there was simply nothing. He couldn't get enough strength to push himself high enough to get his head out of the watery surface and his legs couldn't feel the bottom of the pool. It seemed as if he had been swallowed up by a watery hole, with no way to go but down and to lose his life in the process. He had no idea how he ended up here; one second he had been standing on the ledge and the next, he was fighting for his next breath and the life he had come to know.

oOoOoOoOo

" _My dad never let us get a pool," Albus said to the other two, as the three of them peered down into the depths. "I was never even taught how to swim."_

_Scor looked at him as if he were talking gibberish, and laughed in mockery. "How in Merlin's name, do you not know how to swim? Haven't you ever been to a beach or a lake?" He glanced over his shoulder towards Axel, who was looking at Albus just as he was. Who didn't know how to bloody swim especially at the age they were? It was ridiculous, utterly unbelievable._

" _My parents never taught me," Albus shrugged. "And i've never needed to. Besides, it's not_ _ **that**_ _important. Not everyone knows how to swim."_

_He scoffed, shaking his head of pale hair in disbelief as he backed away from the pool. Yet again, he found himself undeniably shocked and disgusted at how weak Albus was; so incredibly_ _**weak** _ _. He stared hard into the back of Albus' figure as the boy continued to gaze down into the water, practically hearing his deadly curiosities. Surely, after so long, Albus would eventually get into the water and learn, right? One couldn't go their entire life without learning, even if it meant the hard way. It would only take one small slip._

_It was either you sink or swim. There was no one or the other or no mixture in between._

_With a grin, he took a step forward. It was now or never and surely Albus would thank him if this had a positive outcome. However, just as fast as he had made his decision, Axel's hand quickly shot out and grasped his forearm to bring him to a halt. Scor wasted no time meeting Axel's hazel gaze, the fine lines of worry beginning to seep into his vision._

" _What are you doing?" Axel voiced strongly, his brows scrunched together in confusion._

_He could only smirk at him, unfazed, and nodded his head towards Albus. "He has to learn someday." He took another step forward._

_Axel's eyes widened, hesitating but still following after him. It was all the confirmation Scor needed. If Axel truly had a problem with it, he would've alerted Albus or at least shoved him for being a complete arsehole. Axel, however did neither. "Are you mad?" he hissed, quietly on for the two of them to hear. "He can't bloody swim. Scor, could die."_

_Albus was only two steps away from them now, an easy reach for his arms._

" _Madness is like gravity-," he answered, taking yet another step forward. He was close enough to where Albus could hear him now and he watched eagerly as Albus began to turn around. He wanted to see the panic in his eyes. "- All it takes is a little push." He flung his arms out and shoved them hard into Albus' side._

_The splash left him breathless._

oOoOoOoOo

He could see the vivid outline of his hands as they stretched towards the sun. The bright rays were beaming down onto the surface and he could see two distinct shadows reaching out to him, arms stretched out and reaching, breaking the surface but only by inches. He couldn't understand how he was so far. He had been right there...right on the edge, and now it felt as if he were feet away. Why couldn't they reach him?

His thrashing was beginning to get frantic now as he could see black fade into his vision and yet he was still sinking. He could see the surface getting farther and farther from his reach and the bubbles leaving his mouth were taking longer to float to the top. He swore that the shadows had gotten closer, or perhaps he had somehow managed to push his body, but no one was hoisting him up and out of his watery grave. He could see splashing above his body as if Scorpius and Axel were trying to grab him but they were too far. He had sunk too deep.

He couldn't hear anything anymore, not the water flooding his ears or the frenzy in his lungs as they capsized. His screams of pleas had stopped, there was simply no more air for him to use. All he could do is watch as the thrashing water above him sparkled like liquid diamonds. The surface was so bright, almost a blinding white light, and he wondered if that was heaven. If that was where his mother was and if she herself was the light and he was supposed to go to it. It was so beautiful and so promising but he couldn't reach it. He couldn't...

It was so silent and it made him so tired; his eyes were beginning to flutter close as he couldn't find the strength to keep them open anymore. He was still sinking deeper and deeper, away from the pale blue waters and into the navy shadows, further away from the life he had mere minutes ago. This was it, he knew. It would only be seconds now. It was all he had left.

There was a disruption in the water, a forced wave as someone jumped in. The motion of the underwater wave pushed themselves against his body and it was as if he had become the wave with the fluidity that it gave his body. It felt as if the wave was his savior, his ticket to a place he didn't know to call either heaven or hell.

He was quickly grabbed into strong arms as they wrapped around his still body and he could feel the water rush past him as the figure surged towards the surface. Someone had come to his rescue; a guardian angel sent by the God above. When the water barrier broke, he swore he was already dead and that his rescue was nothing more than a cruel figment of his imagination as the air still refused to leave his lungs. Was he to live on in the afterlife without the ability to breath and forever stay gasping for air; trapped in eternity to beg for that next breath?

He felt his back connect with a strong surface, hard and almost cold to the touch, and through the slit's of his eyelids he could see the shadows of figures move around him. There were voices but they were muffled and he couldn't focus on any of them as they jumbled all together, like a thick river of static. The shadows were crossing paths and intertwining until suddenly he couldn't see any of them except for one. There was a pair of arms stretched out, touching him gently on the chest, and he could feel the hands trembling against his soaked shirt. Or perhaps it was his chest that was shaking, seizing as he felt the water being propelled from his body. The liquid was being forced out of his lungs and he was quickly being turned on his side as the water escaped from his mouth, leaving from his throat is harsh splutters. It had been almost violently that the air returned into his body in quick, frantic gulps, as he swallowed the air like a greedy beggar and didn't stop until he no longer felt the sheer need to force his breaths in and out. All he could focus on was those breaths, those tantalizing breaths that he didn't know were real or not and if he was truly inhaling the gases his living body needed or if this was his way of coping in his new deceased form. It felt real, but then again, he never knew what it felt like to die. Even if he had passed on, it didn't feel like it. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

He was back on the floor again, staring up into the sky until the shadow leaned back into his view. His hazy gaze could now see the long curls breezing across his face as she leaned down.

"Albus," his ears perked up at the gentle voice. "Albus…" He knew that voice. He had  _missed_ that voice.

He began to blink rapidly to clear his sight but it was still too foggy for him to make out the figure. "Mom…" he reached up and softly combed his fingers through the long hair above him. It was just as soft as he rememberd, even smoother than he could last recall. Perhaps Heaven was real after all and now it would be his new home. He didn't know if he would miss his old one or not. His family he would, but he wouldn't have to live with the pain of not having his mom anymore. She was here...she was alive again.

"Mom…"

There were arms wrapped around him again and he could feel his body being positioned upward. Slowly, the black dots in his vision began to fade and he blinked away the blurriness with effort. The shadows quickly transformed before his very eyes and the feeling had returned to his body. He was positioned on the concrete lining around the pool only a simple foot away from the edge. Mr. Malfoy was next to him, soaking wet in his trousers and button up; even his shiny shoes were drenched. In a harsh realization, he inhaled shakily. It was obvious the older blonde was the one who had saved him. There had been no angels...his mother hadn't come back.

He opened his mouth ready to utter his thanks when he heard the familiar sigh of relief across from him. He turned his head quickly and watched as Hermione placed a hand on her heaving chest. She looked frazzled but it didn't take away from the reliving smile she gave him. She had been the one who brought him back, he was sure of it. She had been the one to save him...she was the one he thought had been his mother. It was  _her_ curls around his face,  _her_ hands that had soothed his aching chest,  _her_ voice that had beckoned him back into the living world.

"Mom," his voice whispered.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and brought him into a fierce hug. Her head was on the top of his as she clung to his body, seemingly not minding how her own clothes were becoming drenched from his and he wasted no time doing the same.

When she pulled away from him, he missed the contact immediately. With her gone, so was the warmth and protection she provided. It made his body ache all over again.

She was no longer paying attention to him as she picked herself up and grabbed her husband's arm as he did the same. Mr. Malfoy was absolutely drenched, with water dripping from the ends of his pale hair but it was as if the water didn't faze him. "What happened?" he asked. His voice was strong as it interrupted the pin-drop silence but it made Albus want to fidget under his gaze. He wanted Hermione again, she could at least keep the questions at bay.

He turned his head up, ready to offer his explanation, when he suddenly snapped his mouth shut. To his relief, Mr. Malfoy hadn't directed the question to him. Instead, his silver gaze was trained on the one identical to his.

Albus shifted to watch as Scorpius stared at him. The blonde was still standing by Axel and the woman from the kitchen was there as well as another man with rich, caramel skin. Both of the adults were hovering around the two boys and Albus could see Talon peering from behind his father's legs. He looked so scared that Albus wanted to tell him he was fine but from the intense silence that was still ringing in his ears, he decided against it.

Scor dragged his unblinking gaze from his father onto him. "He fell in," he replied, almost as if he were bored. "He just got too close."

Albus' brows furrowed hard in concentration. Had he fallen in? He had never been a clumsy boy and he was sure that he had been more than a few inches away from the edge. Falling in was possible, he had to admit, but he couldn't remember. He could only remember the twinkling diamonds and Hermione's voice.

"Next time you boys come out here, you'll have to be more careful, okay?" Hermione said, watching her husband carefully as she spoke before nodding her head in reasurement to Albus and the others. "Let's go inside now and get you warmed up." She gently lowered herself and helped him get up, which was much harder than he thought it would be as his knees threatened to buckle underneath him with every step he took. He didn't waste anytime burying himself underneath her arm as she cradled his shoulders.

As they made their way towards the house, Albus could feel a piercing stare burning holes in the back of his head but he didn't turn around.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"You looked like a fish," a boyish sneer shot through the air, ruining the peace that the night had broughten them.

From across the bedroom, Albus shifted his head to eye the dark shadows where Scorpius' bed was and frowned. Like at Malfoy Manor, the two of them were sharing the bedroom but even though they were in the same four walls, their beds had been pushed as far as possible from each other. They were so far apart that if it weren't for Scor's glowing pale locks, he wouldn't've been able to see him at all.

"What?" he hardly recognized the voice that left his throat. The soft muscles were still sore from his underwater wailing. Albus could hear as blankets ruffled together until - like a predator escaping the shadows concealing his position - Scorpius emerged, an amused grin plastered across his face.

"When you were in the pool," Scorpius clarified. "You looked like a fish, gaping your mouth before you sank to the bottom," he finished with a humorless chuckle. "Too bad you couldn't breath underwater like one."

Albus froze in disbelief. Was he...was he  _serious_?! He felt anger course through his veins as the blonde sneered from his bed. "I almost died Scor," he growled. "How can you possibly find that funny?"

"You're being too dramatic," Scor rolled his eyes; seeming to glint as the moonlight shone brightly through the windows. "How scared were you?"

The abrupt question threw him off as he watched Scor peer at him, almost as if he were eager to hear his response. He wanted to throw something at him for being such an utter prat but he doubted that would go well. Ever since the Zabini's departed after dinner, Scor had been eerily quiet towards him but now...Albus missed that silence. He wished Scor had never shattered it to begin with.

He wanted to turn around and try to drift into sleep but he knew that Scor wouldn't simply turn away. The blonde had asked him a question that needed a reply.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back into the safety of the vast pillows. "I was terrified-," he admitted, staring up at the ceiling and tracing the fancy trim with his eyes, "- at first."

"At first?" Scor echoed incredulously, silver eyes narrowing before him.

Albus nodded his head. A soft grin had eased onto his face as he reminisced those long moments in the pool. "The water was so pretty."

Silence became of them again and surprisingly, Scorpius retreated back into the shadows without another word.


	14. Chapter 14

Albus allowed his fingers to skim over the numerous titles on the shelf, relishing in how the patterns traced against his fingertips. There were large ones, small ones, thick and thin, some that vibrated underneath his touch and others that felt as if they wanted to bite his hand off. He was quick to avoid those, nearly jumping onto the next book like a sweet prayer.

He darted a quick glance where Scorpius was and would continue down the shelf as if he hadn't just feared for his life. It was something that he knew the Malfoy heir would find utterly ridiculous, Albus knew, and he didn't want to suffer any embarrassment on his own part especially because of stupid  _books_.

There were some titles that he recognized but the number was quite low compared to the vast collection before him. He knew most of them had to be magical and the thought was almost enticing enough to make him want to crack one open and reveal its secrets.

 _Almost_.

The thought of sheer boredom outweighed his lackluster curiosity and with a fleeting look towards his companion, he nearly rolled his eyes. They had been at this for  _hours_ , it felt. At first he truly had tried to pick up a novel but the words had drowned him into boredom and he had found much more entertainment in simply browsing shelf after shelf, row after row. The blonde, however, had been nose deep in a book, hands clenched around the pages and his silver eyes consuming each word with an enthusiasm Albus had never seen another have with a mere book. The notion was  _ridiculous_ to him, really, but it wasn't as if he would ever say that outloud. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the pseudo amity that formed between the two. After Scor had been with his father for nearly an hour the day after his...incident, Scor had hardly uttered a string of sentences to him. And  _that_ had been days ago. Now, all they did was eat and stay inside to read or whatever it was that Scorpius wanted to do.

That's what he had quickly learned while staying with the Malfoy's. Everything revolved around Scor. If he wanted his mother to give him a piano lesson, then Hermione would sit there until he had perfected the piece. If he wanted to sit in his father's study, then he was there, toying with the trinkets on the shelves or going through dated paperwork that he vowed was 'practice for when he would take over the company'. When Scor casually mentioned that he wanted a certain object, then it would arrive only a few hours later. If Scor wanted a snack, it was brought; if he wanted to go flying, then Mr. Malfoy was there. All Scor had to do was snap his fingers. It was nearly unbelievable that Scor declared he wasn't spoiled but Albus didn't argue. Perhaps that's simply how it was with being an only child. Perhaps, even, that's how it had been for him before his sister had been born. Funny, how he couldn't remember. It made him wonder if he took it for granted just as Scorpius did.

He let out a loud sigh and dropped his hand to his side. There must be something  _else_ to do. The Malfoy's were bloody rich and yet Scorpius didn't once take him to their game room. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of a television! And this was supposed to be their ' _muggle'_ Manor? That itself was almost enough to make him laugh.

He sighed again, turning around to walk to the seats but he froze the very second he caught sight of Scor. The blonde was glaring at him with a look that had Albus swallowing thickly.

He may not have known the boy for long, but there was just something... _off_  about him. In the beginning, he had tried to brush it off as it being on guard because of a stranger but that wasn't just it. There was something more, something that ran deep within Scor that was almost savage and wild and  _dangerous_. There were times when he would catch Scor so deep in thought - hands clenched tightly and his eyes shining from beneath the shadows his hair created - that he was sure the boy was out for blood. He seemed so angry all the time, as if every disruption from everyday life was the epitome of his existence. And to be truthful, Scor downright terrified him. He wasn't blind to the way the blonde glared at him more times than not, nor was he deaf to the distinct mumbles of insults that Scor said just loud enough to reach his ears. It was as if the Malfoy  **wanted** him to feel like an intruder, like a trespasser whose time was running out. But as much as Albus wanted to say  _something_ was wrong with him, he shook it off every time the thoughts began to drift into his skull. Just because someone lacked normal social skills didn't mean they were automatically ostracized as being unhinged. In fact, if there was anyone else that lacked said social skills, Albus would be right there next to him. He had no right to point out Scor's flaws. Here he was in  _Scorpius'_ house, with  _Scorpius'_ parents, enjoying  _Scorpius'_ things. He had no right…

He fidgeted underneath Scor's stony stare, shifting from one foot to another. The blonde said nothing and the intensity of Scor's attention made Albus' face flare in embarrassment at disturbing his reading. It must have been incredibly rude on his part.

He diverted his eyes when Scor made no move of turning back to the tomb in front of him. "You, uh, have a lot of books," Albus said, pretending to be interested in the closest novel. "Do you know that?"

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, subtly enough that it looked like he had simply taken a deep breath. "This is nothing compared to the Manor's library. Most of the books in here are copies of ones that we need."

He turned his head and looked bewilderedly at Scor. "Who needs this many books?" he motioned to the numerous rows filled to the brim with novels and textbooks of all different sizes and volumes. "No one reads even half this amount throughout their entire  _life_."

Albus flinched when Scorpius snapped his book shut and rose from his chair, stalking towards him almost threateningly. "Maybe  **I** like to read, has that ever occurred to you? Maybe my parents like to read - which they do - and perhaps even my grandparents. Did you ever sit and think that perhaps just because you don't like to do something, doesn't mean everyone feels the same?"

So much for not being rude…

"Don't you ever get bored?" he tried instead. "How long can someone sit in a chair without getting an  _itch_ to do something  _fun_?"

The corners of Scor's mouth twitched, almost as if were about to smile but he didn't. It was as if it's ghost was in its place and hidden from Albus' sight.

"Something fun?" Scor repeated in a whisper that chilled Albus to the bone. He tilted his head to the side and eyed him through the white-blonde strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

The blonde's grin widened. "I'm sure I can think of something."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Is it alright if Albus and I spend the day outside?" Scorpius looked up at Hermione with wide, hopeful eyes before moving onto his father. From beside him, the question nearly had Albus' jaw dropping onto the floor. "The weather's quite nice-," Scor continued, preparing his case, " -and I think Albus is bored out of his mind being cooped up inside all day long. We won't go anywhere near the pool, I  _promise_."

Albus watched as Hermione considered her son carefully, then him, before turning to look at her husband. It seemed that she had given the decision to him and from the look of it, Mr. Malfoy was a hard man to persuade as his grey eyes flickered from his son to his wife, then back again.

He appeared to be thinking of his words carefully as he stared between Scor and him; Hermione's fixed attention still gazing into the side of his face. "Where do you plan on taking him then? Don't you think his father would appreciate it if he stayed on our property instead?"

Scorpius didn't falter. "I don't think his father would mind, especially if we go and have fun. We could go to the park for a few hours and be back before dinner, if that's okay. I'll be  _good,_ " Scor urged his father. "I promise."

Mr. Malfoy regarded him silently as Scor shifted to Hermione. "Mom,  _please_."

To Albus, it sounded awfully like a whine but it seemed to have its intended effect as Hermione began to nod her head.

"A day at the park sounds good," she spoke towards the two of them with a gentle smile, darting a glance at the ever silent Mr. Malfoy. "When do you want to leave?"

Scor straightened up in the blink of an eye, looking much more eager than Albus had seen him all week. "Now, if we can. The more time the better. I need to make it up to him for keeping him trapped inside all week," he laughed.

 _Laughed_. Albus' brows rose high onto his forehead.

"Okay," Hermione started, "Well, I'll go with you-"

" _No_ ," Scorpius rushed out, glancing more at his father than Hermione as she froze in her ascent from her chair. Albus could hear the blood rushing through his ears as Hermione and Draco stared at their son. He swore that if someone were to have dropped a pen upstairs, he would have been able to hear it in that moment.

Then, slowly, blinking back in realization, Scorpius leaned back into his chair much like a snake recoiling in on itself in defense.

"Don't you think we're old enough to go to the park by ourselves?" Scorpius' voice had taken a different approach. "It's not like anyone's gonna snatch us up. The whole neighborhood is warded."

"And what exactly do you plan on doing for these  _few_ hours?" Draco asked, finally breaking his silence. "As much fun as you say you two will have, I doubt that will come from riding on a swingset."

Scorpius scoffed lightly and grinned to his parents. "I was going to show him the bridge too," he explained. "Maybe even the quarry, if he wants, and the boat dock-" Hermione was already shaking her head when Scorpius reconsidered. "Okay, so  _not_ the boat dock."

Draco turned his attention towards him. "Does that sound like something you want to do?"

Albus jumped in his seat when something hard kicked into the side of his shin but it was subtle enough to not be caught...or at least he hoped. Going by how Mr. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at the movement hardly gave him any reassurance.

He felt Scor's gaze burning into the side of his face. "Yes," he replied instantly, feeling more choked than ever before. He would have said yes anyhow. At this point anything would be better than spending another day cooped inside the Manor and being surrounded by the things  _Scorpius_ enjoyed.

It was Hermione that got Draco to budge in the end. Her husband had been apprehensive on letting them wander around alone but after Scor insisted (nearly a thousand times) and Hermione had stood up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered something into his ear, he too, had finally gave his consent.

" _Let the boys be boys_ ," Hermione had said with a laugh just as Scor hopped up from the table and dragged him along by the sleeve of his shirt. It wasn't until the dining room door closed behind them that Scor let him go, almost as if he had been burned.

"You didn't have to kick me, you know," he hissed into Scorpius' ear.

The blonde, however, merely snorted.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The soft sounds of their feet hitting the sidewalk gave him comfort as somehow both of their footsteps had synced together. The way neither of their rhythm wavered, or changed was quite fascinating to him as they continued to tap against his brain.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap_

Scor could only wonder who's had sped up or slowed down in order to match the other, and if Albus had even noted it at all. Which, of course, he doubted. Albus had a pathetic sense of awareness that made even Talon look like that muggle genius Einstein.

He turned his head to eye the other boy and watched as Albus' green eyes soaked in their surroundings; darting to the lines that parted the concrete sidewalk, the birds that would flutter by, and even the children playing on the playscape that they were quickly approaching. But the thing that truly got Scor's attention was watching as Albus' mouth moved with each step he took. He desperately tried to hear what he was saying but whatever left Albus' lips was for deaf ears only.

He sped up.

And as he predicted, so did Albus. The words leaving his mouth followed suit, making Scor's eyes narrow. It was almost as if he were... _counting_. Then, it was as if a lightbulb had went off. Albus  _was_ counting. A smirk slid its way onto his face, more victorious and  _vicious_ than ever before; one that would have been unsettling to see. He knew what this was, he had read those signs and symptoms in psychology textbooks dozens of times. He remembered looking at snapshots of individuals with OCD with the looks of dread and despair on their faces as their brains forced them to comply, making them turn against their own will until they were consumed by their impulses. It was a terrible disorder to have, and one that was usually the result of a  _stress_ inducing incident.

He nearly rolled his eyes at that. As if there couldn't be anything  _more_ wrong with Albus. Every second that he spend in his presence, made him believe his father more and more when he had told him that Harry Potter had been one of the biggest dolts he had ever meet, apart from that troll of a redhead.

"Wait," Albus said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. "Where are we going?"

He didn't bother stopping. He merely turned his head over his shoulder and nodded towards the sidewalk in front of him. "We're not there yet," he drawled out. "We need to keep going."

Albus shook his head. "But...this is the park. You told your parents we were coming  _here_."

Scor stopped and raised a brow. "And how would you know which park I was talking about exactly?"

"You said it was only a few blocks away," he pointed out. "I've been counting, Scor. This  **is** the park."

Whatever bubble of satisfaction Scor had, burst at Albus' admission. So  **that's** why he had been counting. The thought of Albus not being as fucked up as he had originally deciphered was quickly dampened his mood.

"I've changed my mind," Scor snapped. "That one is for babies. We're going to a different park."

Albus stayed still, hesitating in his spot. The way his gaze kept drifting from the park to the distance ahead of them, had Scor clenching his fist.

"My parents know the other one is my favorite," he tried instead. "If they come looking for us, which I guarantee they won't, then they'll know where to find us.  _Trust_ me, Albus."

Albus' emerald gaze flew to his instantly. A moment of silence expanded between them as they stared each other down; one waiting for the other to move, and the other waiting for common sense to take over.

It was mesmerizing to see the apprehension in Albus' eyes as he continued to stare at him. In truth, if he were being completely honest, he would have gained a level of respect - however infinitesimal that may be - if Albus would have walked away from him and ran all the way back to the house. He didn't need to be trusted. He  _shouldn't_ have been trusted especially by someone like Albus. If Albus was smart, he would've never agreed to be dropped off at his house. He would have never dared stay that first night.

Obviously, he wasn't a very bright individual and the very moment he took a step forward on that sidewalk, his fate was decided.

Onward they went.

oOoOoOoOo

"How deep does it go?" Albus asked, his voice bouncing off of the stone walls as he peered down the well. The hole appeared to run on forever, just a black abyss that even the sunlight couldn't touch.

From his side, Scor shrugged. "It could go on for miles," he answered with his gaze trained on the unending darkness. "Or it could be only a few meters deep. I suppose neither of us would know unless one of us were to go down."

Albus looked up at that, clearly startled. "Well  _ **I'm**_ not going down there and I'm positive your mother wouldn't like the idea for you either."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Well of course I'm not going down there. I do have a sense of self prevalence, something that I've been told I've inherited solely from my father. My mother didn't have the same priorities back in her school years, as I'm sure your dad was the same. I was just curious to see if you were the same since, well, you only had  _one_ magical parent and your father didn't have the best reputation for saving his own arse."

"You seem to know a lot about my dad," Albus eyed him skeptically. "Does your mom talk about him a lot?"

The hope that he saw dash in Albus' green,  _envious_ gaze made his brows furrow deeply in thought. What angle was he playing at? Better yet, what was he hoping for? To find out that there was any chance of rekindling the relationship between their parents? He didn't see that happening anytime soon, especially if his father had any hand in it. He didn't like that look one bit and knew the best tactic to have it flourishing away and back into the hole it had crawled out of.

"Did you see your mom after she was dead?"

The shock at the change of conversation was glorious to see on Albus' face, and better yet was the way his eyes went wide as he registered the question. He had been thrown at it, face crumpled in confusion at such a dark topic and especially one so damn  _personal_.

Albus' mouth opened and closed several times as he thought of the words to say, reminding Scor profoundly of the day he had thrown him in the pool and watched as the water choked him.

"I-I...wanted to, but no one would let me," he admitted softly.  _Those green eyes were nearly dead to the world now_ , Scor thought with a hidden sneer. "My dad said it wasn't something that children should see."

He shook his head pretending to be disappointed. "You see, people don't like to talk about death. Most don't understand that death is the most sophisticated form of beauty because it is the most difficult to accept," he cautioned slowly, knowing that he was treading on very,  _very_ thin ice. "You should've made them let you. What did your mom look like the last time you saw her?"

Albus frowned and Scor knew he was living in a different moment than the present, and one that was probably the darkest of his life. "Kinda pale.."

He nodded his head of platinum strands. "That's how they all look, after death. Blue and cold to the touch. You should've looked at her eyes and lips…"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Scor's eyes snapped to him. "Don't get mad, Albus. I'm just asking questions. I've seen plenty of dead people-"

"Just stop talking!"

Scor froze in his spot as if he had been stunned and stared harshly at Albus; unblinking and undeterred. He unfolded his hands and placed them onto the edge of the well, leaning forward. If he had to, all it would take was one quick outreach of his arm and a hard pull, and Albus would go  _tumbling, tumbling, tumbling_  down. He supposed Albus' body would be large enough to hear it's splash, and perhaps then he would get his answer of just how deep that well  _really_ was.

His fingers twitched at the actions his thoughts impulsed. "Or what?"

Albus' brows furrowed and his eyes got wide, darting around them as if he were searching. "Or...or else I'll hit you."

Something dark was itching its way up from inside of him. Something that was enraged, something that wanted to be unleashed. He tilted his head to the side. "I'd like to see you try, Albus. Or else I'll throw you down there," his eyes flickered down into the well, that infuriating smile on his face.

When Albus took a step back, Scor knew he had gone too far. Just as fast as that red began to creep into his vision, he forcefully blinked it away. He took several calming breaths, sighing heavily to himself.  _Way to go._

"Look," he shook his head, glancing sympathetically at Albus. "I'm sorry. That was wrong of me to say. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my own mother." The bait was set and waiting to recapture his prey.

After several long seconds, Albus nodded his head stiffly but he still had that far away look to him. "You should thank God that you still have both of your parents," he nearly whispered.

" _God_?" Scor repeated, making sure he heard him correctly. Surely Albus wasn't bringing  _that_ up. "You believe in that muggle trash?" He looked at Albus incredulously.

"Yes," Albus shrugged his shoulders. "Don't you? Isn't your  _mom_ a Muggleborn?"

"Just because she's from the muggle world doesn't mean that she believes in that garbage," he sneers. Honestly, what did it matter if his mother was a Muggleborn? Even if she weren't to have a single ounce of magic in her bloodstream, he knew she wouldn't believe in something as flawed as religion. His mother was one, if not the best, logical thinkers that there was. Religion and logic didn't exactly correspond together. "My grandparents do though," he continued. "My  _mother's_ parents. It's quite ridiculous but I've been told to let them be. They'd never understand what it means to be magical. For the most part, they've been left in the dark with what the magic world entails."

Albus turned his head to look at him and Scor could see that he was biting the inside of his cheek as he tossed unsaid words around in his head. "I suppose being from the magical world can make the aspect of a God seem a bit…"

"Unbelievable?" Scor threw out with a tone of exasperation. "Inconceivable? Fictitious? "Made-Up? I could go on all day, honestly."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Albus looked away, shaking his head softly. "My mom always used to say that word a lot.  _Unbelievable_. She always said it...like it was a habit of hers."

When Albus made no move to continue talking, Scor brought up his head and stared at him curiously. His eyes narrowed as he watched tears form in Albus' gaze and he fought the urge to make the boy's tears shed in actual pain. Crying was for the  _weak_. Sometimes, it was best to keep your head tilted back instead.

He cleared his throat to stop Albus from making a sheer fool of himself. "Why did she always say it? Was it because of the magic your dad used?"

"Oh," Albus blinked rapidly to wash the tears away, shaking his head. "No, my father never performed magic. I hadn't even known about magic until the day before I showed up at your house. I still have my doubts that my father's an actual… 'celebrity' in this world. It seems a bit-"

"Unbelievable?" Scor shot out with a curled grin.

Wordlessly, Albus nodded in agreement.

He leaned down and grabbed a handful of pebbles, soft and smooth against his touch, and held his arm out over the well. As he lifted up his smallest finger, several of the small stones trickled out of his hand and into the black hole below. He listened carefully to hear their landing, but as always, it was as if they never stopped their freefall.

"It was me that she always called unbelievable," Albus broke the silence. Across from him, Scor lifted his ring finger, sending more pebbles into their descent. "What I did, how much I was like my dad, my strange beliefs, the list goes on and on."

His middle finger halted in its release and he tilted his head. "What strange beliefs? Did your mother not believe in that bullsh - God - either?" he had been quick to correct himself.

"No, my mom was the one who taught me about religion. My dad...well, I think he thinks like you do about the subject."

"Then what was so mind boggling about  _you_ then?" he pressed on.

He could see the apprehension cloud Albus' view as if he really thought he would waste his breath making fun of him. He wouldn't say it out loud, of course, but Albus had nothing to worry about. He was on a good streak right now and he was definitely going to show his father that he could be responsible.

"She always thought it was strange how I didn't believe in the devil when I believed in God."

Scor's brows furrowed. "You don't believe in the devil yet you believe in a god? Doesn't that contradict your beliefs? Without a devil, how can you have a god?"

"I've always believed that it was the actions of humans that created evil. At their worst, is themselves as their own devil," Albus tried to explain.

"I suppose you could think about it like that," Scor nodded his head slowly but then abruptly stopped. "Or-" he emphasizes, "- what if the devil really did exist and you were too ignorant to admit it? What if, in  _reality_ , the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn't exist? Now  **that** , would be an act of pure genius. He kills, tortures, abandons and yet no one would ever blame him, going off of your own beliefs. He would be the perfect villain, never getting caught, doing it century after century without mercy. You'd have to respect his work." He unclenched the rest of his fingers and didn't blink as the remaining pebbles fell lifelessly from his grip.

Albus shook his head. "No-"

"And if you truly believe that there is no devil, who do you blame for all the misfortunes in the world? All of the  _evil-_ "

"Those are the acts of humans, not-"

"-Killing must feel good to your god too. He does it all the time. He took your mother-"

"She was sick!"

"By a sickness your god gave her!" Scor could feel his temper rising to dangerous levels. "I've learned  _all_ about muggle religion. You religious  _miscreants_ believe that god controls everything, that he sees and hears everything. If you stick to that faith, then you should believe that god took your mother. No wonder your mother said you were unbelievable. Your logic is flawed, Albus."

That effectively shut Albus up with an audible snap of his mouth. It seemed that he had struck a core, one that was tethering by only a string.

"You...you think God felt good when he took her?" Albus refused to look towards him, battling against his inner turmoil.

Scor hid his smirk by turning to look in the opposite direction, eyeing the sun that was quickly threatening to set as the colors of the sky began to get swallowed up by the dark blues rapidly invading. With a shrug, he leaned against the stoned wall of the well. "I think it made him feel powerful," he turned back to eye Albus. "You wanna know what I believe? I think religion is all metaphorical. It means something different to everyone; there is no wrong or right answer. Even you said so yourself, at our worst we are our own devil, therefore, at our best...well, I suppose we'd be our own God too, wouldn't we?"

He watched as Albus swallowed thickly, uncomfortably.

"In fact, I think that if you aren't careful, the devil could walk right up to you and present himself as your best friend," he pushed himself off of the well and took one last fleeting look towards the sky before taking a step towards the direction home. "And you'd never suspect a thing until it was too late."

Albus frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's like I said before, it's all metaphorical, of course." He jutted his chin towards the direction they had come from and nodded for Albus to follow. "My parent's will be expecting us home soon."

When their footsteps hit the gravel once again, this time it was Albus that led the way home, his footsteps quick and eager.

Scor smirked at the back of his head the entire way home.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Did you at least have fun?" Scorpius turned to peer at him from over his shoulder. His pale blonde hair had been tousled when he put his shirt on and for the first time, Albus noted how  _normal_ he looked. Gone was the perfect hair in its perfect place and his perfect tailored clothes. Perhaps it was just that Scor was wearing a shirt and shorts and the utterly fancy sets that he had so far been wearing. He liked Scor better like this; it was almost as if they were on the same level.

Well, not quite.

Albus shrugged, looking down at his pajamas that felt tattered and cheap, yet he knew he was being ridiculous. There was nothing  _wrong_ with what he was wearing, Scor just happened to make everything he wore look elegant including the handed down Slytherin shirt that was obviously two sizes too big and yet the blond still looked primed and proper. How was that even possible?

"No answer?" he could hear the sneer in Scor's voice, the dominance he was forcing into the conversation. He hated when Scor did that. Albus knew this was Scor's territory, he knew this was Scor's room, his bloody house, yet at every chance the Malfoy heir got, he threw it in his face. It never failed that Scor showed him who exactly was in charge. The one who held all the power.

When he heard the sharp exhale, Albus cleared his throat hastily. "Sure. I mean...today was okay. It was nice to get some fresh air."

Scor ignored his question instantly, brushing it off as if he had never uttered the words. "Okay? Just okay?"

At the acidic tone, he lifted his head up towards Scor, watching as second by second, those grey eyes narrowed in aggravation.

"It was nice, yes," he lowered himself forcefully into his bed, desperate to get to bed and not have to talk anymore. "We should do it again, don't you think?"

Scor was staring at him through the fringes of his hair; halted in his descent onto his bed, with one knee on the mattress and the other flat against the floor. The look though...if Albus hadn't known better, he would have thought that Scor hated his very existence. It was a look that told him to drop  _dead_.

"Most definitely," Scor deadpanned. And with a snap of his fingers the lights vanished, leaving them in total, undisturbed darkness.

oOoOoOoOo

Scor had allowed himself to stare at the windows as the hours passed, watching in fascination as the stars shifted before him, the moon drifting across the night sky as if it owned it. Then, he would see him, his constellation near the center of the Milky Way, as it shined brightly with Libra to the west and Sagittarius to the east. He wondered what it must be like to be so high up; higher than any broom could take him. He wanted to be in the stars. He wanted to hold the world in his hands just as the stars did and see every action that took place, every sin that was committed and every miracle beheld. The sheer amount of power was sure to be testing and overwhelming and much too daunting for a simple person as himself, even for a wizard destined to be great. He had a reputation to uphold, a greatness to achieve.

He craved for that power, wanting it more than anything.

And with his turn of thoughts, it brought the restlessness that always followed not far behind. That unscratchable itch that begged to be sated.

He sat up in his bed and kicked off his sheets that had suddenly became too suffocating. His fingers twitched for something to grab, for something to grow, for something to  _squirm_. He wanted to break something- anything - and he wanted to be the one in control, the one with all the power.

From across the room, Albus chose that exact moment to shift in his bed, causing his attention to snap immediately to the slumbering boy. The fact that Albus was still in his room was agitating enough. It was the only reason why he hadn't acted out on his urges yet. Merlin forbid the git get startled and start screaming into the night. Albus hadn't found a single thing they had did today to be up to his standards. The boy proclaimed he wanted to have fun yet he took everything so seriously. If Albus saw the world from his perspective, he would have at least appreciated the cemetery.

With ease, he slipped out of his bed and creeped silently across his floor until he was right there beside Albus' bedside. Staring down at him, he wondered if he too looked that small in his bed. They were the same size, after all.

It would be easy to kill him. He could wrap his hands around his neck until the life was squeezed out of him; he could fling his dagger into the pale expanse of Albus' neck. The possibilities were endless;  _daunting_. He stared entranced as Albus' chest rose up and down with each breath he took. How  _easy_ , it would be to make that movement stop. The corner of his lips twitched at the thought, picturing the deadly red stains that would cover the bed, perhaps getting the splatter on the walls, and if he was exceptionally good, even the ceiling.

His artwork would be beautiful.

Without another thought, he leaned forward.


	15. Chapter 15

" _Albus.._."

Scorpius watched as the dark haired boy crumpled his face in agitation before rolling over and burrowing his head further into the pillows. It was fascinating, in a sick, pathetic type of way that Albus remained unresponsive. Like wounded prey begging to be slaughtered, and allowing natural selection to take its course.

Scorpius sneered. Didn't Albus know that he had to stay alert even in the dead of night? Did no one ever teach him about constant vigilance? Someone could have broken in after getting word of the glorious Potter's return. Someone could have stormed in with their wand raised and the Killing Curse on the tip of their tongue and Albus wouldn't have even known. He wouldn't have moved an inch.

Of course, no one was getting into his house. They'd get splinched so severely that they'd be nothing more than a pile of chopped up flesh- appearing to be the remnant carcass of roadkill - an entire kilometer from this neighborhood. It would probably go unnoticed and only capture the attention of stray birds as they pecked at the rotted meat until the scraps were swept up by Muggle trash collectors that wouldn't know any better. It would be everything they deserved.

However, he didn't need to worry about an intruder. No one was getting in. No one would get  _close_.

But it didn't matter.

He had seen how his father would jump awake when he used to sneak into his parent's bedroom. If he accidentally took too heavy of a step, or dipped the mattress even lightly as he pulled himself up, his father would lurch forward, wand at the ready and eyes wide as they peered into the darkness. His father would only relax when he realized it was him but even as he situated himself in the middle of the bed, Scor always remembered the wand that stayed gripped in his father's hand. Large knuckles glowing white even in the pitch black of night. His mother too always showed him that it was a foolish thing to not have your wand on you at all times. Her vinewood wand was always present, just as his father's was. Even when they were all tucked away in the safety of their homes.

_Constant Vigilance._

It had been years now since he had begun training himself to be a lighter sleeper. It was quite tricky, and he was far from mastering the skill but everyone had to start somewhere. However, he had noticed that with Albus' presence, it was as if his mind was always expecting  _something_. Even if Albus posed no danger, his mind could feel the intrusion. His personal space was being occupied. His life was being invaded by a parasite that needed to be debrided from his skin; pulled out and nipped before it could leave any lasting effects.

As if that could  _really_ happen. Albus had no power. He was quite dull honestly, in Scor's opinion. Nothing more than a sad boy who was depressed in a strange new world without both of his parents. A broken mind that was  _vulnerable_ to someone like him.

The corner of Scor's mouth twitched and he leaned further onto Albus' bed. "Albus,  _get up_ ," he said loud enough that it should have pulled Albus out of his slumber. But yet, much to Scor's frustration, the boy stayed still. Scor's jaw clenched. He was  _done_ with this approach.

With a hard shove, Scor violently whacked Albus' shoulder. He quickly leaned away as Albus shot forward, his black hair sticking up at every which angle and eyes heavy with sleep and confusion.

"Wha-"

"Get.  _Up_ ," Scor hissed.

Albus blinked. Once. Twice. He could barely keep both of his eyes open as he stared at the blur in front of him. It was only Scor's white-blonde hair that gave him away. "What?" he repeated. His voice was muffled and scratchy that he could barely hear what he was saying.

Scorpius huffed in agitation. "I said get up.  _Now_ would be nice."

With thinly veiled patience, grey eyes watched as Albus rubbed at his eyes. It hadn't skipped Scor's attention that Albus had yet to move.

"W-What time is it?" Albus asked, not bothering to stifle his yawn.

"Does it matter?" Scor snapped. "Just get up and get dressed."

Albus paused and looked at him as if for the first time. "For what?"

With a significant amount of restraint, Scorpius leaned away. He knew that if he was in reaching distance of Albus he would grab his throat and not let go until the boy was lifeless. The opportunity was enticing enough that it would have been hard not to follow through.

Scor reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose as he forced his attention downwards. He exhaled heavily through his nose, his eyes clenched shut. "I swear on my  _life_ that if you do not get up within the next second, I will personally smother you with your pillow. Now come on."

Scor moved from the bed and walked towards his closet without waiting for Albus. He briskly glided into the side door and went straight towards one of the many dressers the closet contained. With hastened ease he pulled out two sets of clothing and gathered two pairs of boots, leaving without a second thought. His footsteps, however, paused as he glanced down at the articles in his hands. His clothes, his shoes. How quick he was to willingly  _share_ with Albus when mere hours before, he would have never allowed such a monstrocity to happen. Him  _share_? It was almost unheard of. But now? Now? How  _eager_ he was. He forced himself not to dwell, not while feeling so…  _enlivened_ for what was to come.

He re-entered his bedroom and tossed the spare outfit onto Albus' bed.

Albus stared down at the pile of dark clothing at the foot of his bed before his gaze shot up, confused beyond belief. The questions were swimming in those emerald pools of his.

"Put those on," Scor explained, not stopping his motions as threw his own pile onto the chair beside his bed.

Albus didn't move. His brain and body were desperately trying and failing to comprehend just what was happening. What exactly was he being asked to do?

Scor's blonde head shot towards him, ignoring the urge to scream at him to stop being so bloody  _thick_. "You do remember where the bathroom is, don't you?" he spoke slowly as if speaking to a toddler and wordlessly flickered his gaze towards the bathroom door.

Albus' face was still scrunched in dubiety but much to Scor's relief, he at least managed to grab the pile of clothing and shuffle towards the loo.

It was only after the door closed behind Albus that Scorpius jumped into action.

* * *

It was dead silent as he slowly pulled open his bedroom door and peered down the hall. He was met with darkness; no light source apart from the slivers of moonlight that pooled through the windows along the hall. It was lifeless, as he knew it would be, and with a quick nod to Albus, he opened the door further to allow the both of them to slip out.

Scor raised a finger to his lips and silently hushed Albus as the boy crept around him, leaving him space to close the door quietly behind them and with a whisper he spoke, "Follow me and do  _not_ make a sound."

"You still haven't-"

Scor rounded on him. "I said not a sound!" he hissed. Albus raised his hands into the air and mouthed 'okay' before Scor turned back around and began the silent descent down the hall. He had done this numerous of times before, too many to count. Hell, he could make the walk blindfolded. He knew that twelve steps ahead there was a wooden panel that would creak ever-so-gently and that on the ninth stair there was also another weak spot that would squeak if both feet were planted at the same time. He knew this house like the back of his hand, the others too. They were his playgrounds; held his toys, his most valued possessions, and gave him the protection and cover that he needed.

With the both of them clad in black, they tiptoed down the stairs and rounded into the back hall that led towards the backyard. The large door that separated them from the outside world seemed to glow in anticipation, beckoning them forward and leaving him unable to resist. Although outside was his final destination, he-  _they-_ had somewhere else to go first.

He passed the large door and continued on, creeping down the hallway until a side door came into view. Scor's steps quickened. He wasted no time reaching out and pushing it open with eager fingers before pulling Albus through after him by the sleeve of his shirt.

"I thought you wanted to go outside?" Albus frowned. "Why are we in…" his voice died down as he glanced around the room. He hadn't been in it yet but he knew what room it was. He had seen Mr. Malfoy in it earlier with Axel and Talon's father. He had figured it was off-limits.

The room was dark like the rest of the house, with pristine furnishings and strange yet fascinating decor positioned immaculately as if with perfected purpose. It was nowhere near his own father's office- almost otherworldly- but unlike his father's office, Mr. Malfoy's felt…  _forbidden_ , as if he had no right to have a single foot through the threshold. But, if that were true, Scorpius would have never allowed him entrance. Albus would have been left out in the hallway, fiddling away with his thumbs and glancing at the tricks his mind would play as shadows danced across the walls. He didn't know which the better outcome was.

Albus followed Scor's movements with hawk-like eyes as the boy stepped around the room. The blonde bypassed the desk and the various shelves without a second's worth of hesitation and instead, bee-lined straight towards a large cabinet that was positioned up on the wall.

Unconsciously, Albus took a step forward as his gaze hungrily sought out what the cabinet possessed. When Scor opened the cabinet's doors, the breath escaped Albus' lungs at what he was greeted by. There, mounted by gleaming silver racks, was a collection of multiple bows, all rich in color with matching quivers resting at their base.

All Albus could focus on was the dangerous glint of the arrow heads that lined the frame, sharp enough that he knew if he were to touch one, it would easily slice through the layers of his skin with ease. His lips parted.

"Pick one."

Albus turned his head so quickly that he felt the muscles shout in protest. He couldn't possibly have heard Scor correctly. Not at all.

At his confused look, Scor nudged his chin forward. "It's going to be boring if you don't have one for yourself."

"We're going to use the bows?" Albus questioned, feeling his brows raise skeptically. "Won't your parents mind?"

Scor shook his head. "They're mine. Why would my parents care?"

Albus frowned, glancing from the blonde to the cabinet of bows, and back again, "I don't know," he answered. "They look expensive… and it isn't as if they are toys that we should play with whenever we want."

"They  _are_ expensive," Scor clarified. "But they are  _my_ toys so I can do with them whatever I chose to. Now pick one."

Albus opened his mouth to argue, but really, he couldn't find the will to. He wouldn't deny the overwhelming urge and wanting that coursed through his small frame. He had never held such a device before.

Albus glanced at Scor once more before inching forward. He allowed his fingers to skim over the elegant handles that faced towards him, begging and crying out to be held. In the faint moonlight, he could see his faint reflection mirroring off of the silver.

There was five bows positioned in the cabinet and all appeared to have small differences in their designs. However, each and every single arrow head that rested in the quivers, all had a scripted silver 'M' just below the solid mercurial fletchings. Each bow was just as tempting as the next but it was the last one that caught his eye. Unlike the first four that were long and slender with one long bowstring, the last one looked like a tricky design that had purpose with each part it contained. It had a constricted shape with wheels on the top and bottom parts of the bowstring that appeared to control the cables that ran through. It was made of the darkest metal he had ever seen that even the small slivers of moonlight didn't reflect off of it like the others. It was a dark abyss that he could feel himself draw closer to. His hand moved from the other bow and began to reach forward.

Just as his fingers brushed against the smooth surface, his hand halted mid-air as it was captured in an iron-like grip. Albus turned his head to the side, mouth opening to protest, "Wha-?"

"Not that one." Scor's voice was tight. He released Albus just as quickly as he had grabbed him. "I'm using it."

"Oh," Albus replied dumbly. He ignored the fluttering disappointment and went back to the previous bow that held his attention. It was nothing like the one Scor now held in his hands, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. It was a silverish-white that had a dark green braided grip and a single matching stripe down the front.

"Careful with that one," Scor silently eyed the bow that Albus held incorrectly in his amatur hands. "It was handcrafted out of Elm wood. A present from my parents when I turned nine."

"And that one?" Albus nodded towards Scor's hands.

Scorpius didn't break his movements as he began to slide the quiver onto his back, filled with a handful of those glinting arrows. "Dragonbane ore. Tenth birthday."

Scor turned and pushed a matching quiver towards Albus. There weren't as many arrows, not even half of what Scor possessed. However, Albus was quick to slide the quiver onto his back just as he had seen Scor do.

"I've never heard of dragonbane ore before."

"It's a magical metal," Scor answered, closing the cabinet's doors with a fluid motion. "It doesn't surprise me if you've never heard of it before. You know, you should really start catching up before we start our schooling at Hogwarts."

"Do you really think i'll be ostracized if I don't know what dragonbane ore is?" Albus said with a quiet laugh. "Seems a bit unimportant if you ask me."

Scor turned around and looked at him. There was no amusement on his face. "I can think of worse outcomes. Now let's go." The blonde brushed past him without another word, leaving Albus quickly scurrying after him.

* * *

The sun hadn't come out yet and with every step Albus took, he had to squint in front of him to make sure he didn't run into a stray branch or stumble on a root or rock. It was quite a difficult task but he had to force himself to keep going, step after step, afraid that if he stopped he'd get lost.

It was quiet too, apart from his and Scor's footsteps as they trudged along the forest floor. It felt as if they had been walking for miles on end. When Albus looked back, the Malfoy mansion was nowhere to be seen in his line of sight. And that place was  _huge_. He wasn't allowed to get distracted for long as Scor's fast steps kept going forward. He did not know what time it was. He was tired and thirsty, and the muscles in his legs burned as they were pushed beyond their limit. Albus was absolutely  _miserable_.

"You know," Albus hissed, "when I said 'something fun', I meant playing video games or watching a cartoon."

"I do not own video games," Scor answered. "They're boring and watching cartoons fry your brain."

"What?" Albus' looked at him with wide, incredulous eyes. "Who on earth told you that?"

"My dad."

"There is nothing wrong with cartoons," Albus said with a roll of his eyes. "I watch cartoons and  _my_ brain isn't fried. Besides, don't you think that would be more interesting than being out in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night?!"

"Nowhere?" Scor echoed, not breaking his pace. His silver eyes were set forward as he marched on, disregarding every branch and root they passed. He did it with ease. "What is so wrong with that? That's the first thing you have to understand, Albus. Nowhere is a great place to be. It means the shackles have fallen off of your wrists. You are free. You can be anything. Take and do whatever you want."

"I can already do whatever I want," Albus said. "I can-"

Scor shook his head. "Maybe in the muggle world you can. But in the magical one, it's all different. You will have no choice but to do and say as society says."

Albus' brows furrowed. "Because of my dad?"

"Who else, Albus? You will be expected to meet certain expectations. You will have to say the right things to the right people, have to look the right image for all the wrong reasons. The moment you step foot into magical society, you can kiss your freedom goodbye. It will get so bad that you would rather spend every living moment locked away in the safety of your house than have to see those people look and judge you."

"But my dad is Harry Potter..."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Scor scoffed. "My mother is Hermione Granger. My father is Draco Malfoy. I won't ask much of you Albus, but trust me when I say they will devour you alive. It won't be long into the future when you will wish to be at a place like this- in the middle of nowhere."

Albus gazed around the darkness surrounding him, pupils dilated so far that the green of his iris was nearly nonexistent. He felt like he was floating in space but his feet planted on the ground kept him tethered. The more he thought about it, he could see the appeal. The more he pushed his discomfort out of mind and focused on being  _alone_ and away from it all, he could feel the tranquility and calm suck him in.

His thoughts shattered before him as he saw the change in Scor's stance. In the blink of an eye, Scorpius turned his body to the right and drew his bow up, stretching his arms apart in one swift move. He heard the distinct whoosh as the bowstring was drawn into position. The arrowhead glowed as Scor held it firmly between his left index and middle fingers, letting the back end clip into the bowstring as it was aimed onto something Albus could not see.

Albus felt utterly useless standing there. He could feel his hands shaking as he desperately peered into the darkness, the bow in his hand vibrating against his skin. If there was something there, the bow was his only weapon and he didn't even know how to bloody use it. It wouldn't mean he would not try. With trembling fingers, he reached behind his back into the quiver and withdrew an arrow of his own. He gripped the slender stick in his hand, not daring to look down in case something were to spring forth and strike.

"Albus," Scor whispered. "Stand beside me."

If it were possible, Albus' grip tightened around the arrow. He was trembling, from head to toe, and stared at the back of Scor's hoodie-clad head in disbelief.

"Come look," Scor turned his head to gaze at Albus from over his shoulder, but in less than a second, he moved his head forward once again. It was enough to strike Albus' curiosity. He didn't see any panic on Scor's face.

With quiet steps, Albus tiptoed forward until he was next to Scorpius, standing on the blonde's left. He wasted no time following Scor's line of sight and as he caught nearby movement, his jaw dropped in awe. The two of them were standing at the top of a small hill and at the bottom, with its head low to the ground, was a deer only a hundred feet away.

Albus smiled at the sight.

"It's beautiful," he breathed. His eyes stayed glued onto the four-legged creature. He took in the pair of antlers on top of its head and marveled at the puffs of air that would fill the air with each breath the deer took. He lowered the bow in his hands. His grip eased from the arrow.

"You think so?" Scor asked from beside him. His arms were still extended as he held the bow. His head was leveled and the base of the arrow was positioned at the corner of his eye. "I've never been a fan of deer before."

Albus turned to look at Scor in question. "In fact," Scor continued, "I don't like them at all."

Before Albus could do or say anything, Scor's right hand let go of the bowstring. The arrow was released with such force that Albus could feel the breeze fly against his face as the arrow surged forward. Albus could only watch as it headed for its target. His eyes were wide, his mouth opened in disturbance. The arrowhead cut through the night with damnation and as it lodged itself right above the deer's front leg, the noise that left the deer sliced through the tranquility Albus was beginning to cherish. It was a god-awful whine of pain and torture and it was the worst sound Albus had ever heard. His eyes were glued onto the wounded animal.

The deer, however, jumped out of shock quickly and began to shove its hooves forward into the dirt, trying desperately to find safety. But Scor wasn't done. The sound of a second arrow being drawn had Albus spinning around in horror.

"Stop!"

Without thinking, he dropped the bow and reached forward, trying to tug onto Scor's arm. It was all he could do to spare the poor animal.

And it did  _nothing_. His effort had been useless.

Scorpius shrugged him off without sparing him a glance. Albus could see the sheer concentration on his face as his eyes were trained on the deer. He followed its dying movements with expertise, the pointed arrowhead never faltering its path as Scor moved forward.

Just as the deer began to get its footing, the second arrow was released with a sharp snap of the drawstring. It zipped through the air like a strike of lightning and sunk deep into the deer's flesh, centimeters away from the first shot.

If possible, the deer's cry of anguish was louder than the first. It shook the very ground that he stood upon and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He felt like he were seconds from throwing up as he watched the deer go down; its front legs crumbling beneath its weight and the back quickly following after.

The deer crumpled to the ground but its legs were still twitching as if trying to run and its breathing still filled the night's air with puffs of white. It was still alive despite the blood that was heavily seeping from its wounds. It still fought for life when it was down.

Albus could feel the tears begin to weild. His chest felt heavy and it  _hurt_. He was physically hurt by what he had seen. And it was all because-

He whirled around and shoved his hands into Scor's chest as hard as he could. He wanted Scor to hurt just as bad as he was.  _Worse_ , even.

Albus moved forward to do it again but Scor was quick to maneuver himself out of the way. The blonde shoved his hood away from his face and stared at Albus through narrowed eyes. "What. Are. You. Doing?!" Scor seethed.

It was a slap in the face to Albus. How-how dare Scorpius act like he was in the wrong! How dare Scor think what he had just done was right!

"How could you!?" he shouted.

Scor's brow was furrowed deeply in confusion. He stayed silent however. He stood still with his black bow at his waist. His knuckles glowed white under the moonlight, against the dark grip of his weapon. Scor watched as Albus' head turned back towards the deer and ran forward. The sharp clanging of the unused arrows rang out as they moved back and forth in the quiver.

Albus' steps didn't stop.

From the top of the hill, Scor followed his movements with trained eyes as Albus dropped to his knees beside the creature. Scor sneered in disgust at Albus' obvious pity for the animal. The boy was so…  _strange_.

Scor turned to look at the bow Albus had discarded onto the floor. He clenched his jaw in outrage. This is why he didn't share. No one could appreciate his things the way only  _he_ could.

He bent at the waist and picked it up with his free hand before sliding through it, letting it rest along his left shoulder. He glanced once more at Albus and rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself. He had seen the way Albus' eyes had glimmered with the unshed tears. How utterly  _pathetic_.

Scor crept forward without another thought, his gaze on the dying deer as he could hear its breathing getting louder the closer he got. His ears perked up at the uneven heaves, knowing its lungs would tire soon.

He stopped walking when he was a an arm's reach behind Albus. He watched as Albus' shoulders rose high with each deep breath he took; such a contrast to the shaking gasps leaving the horse. Scor could feel the corner of his lips quirk at the thought. But he was quick to smother it away.

He reached down towards the holster at his hip and removed the dagger he always carried. The deadly blade rang out as he slid it out of place and Albus was quick to turn around.

Green eyes stared warily at the sharp metal before shooting up towards Scor's face.

"You have to put it out of its misery," Scor explained. He rotated the dagger to hold it by the blade, offering the handle towards Albus.

Albus however cringed away from him, shaking his head. "N-no. I'm not- I can't. You do it."

"No," Scor slowly shook his head, his eyes mocking the boy in front of him. "You are the one who feels sorry for the thing. Not me."

"You're the one who shot him!" Albus yelled.

Scor scoffed. "So? I shot him to  _kill_ him. I don't care how long it takes until it's dead."

"It could take hours until it passes away!"

"Well, it's not as if I can control death, is it?" Scor sneered. Just then, the deer gave another horrid whine of agony. Albus shuddered; Scor's gaze gleamed with excitement.

"You know, each second that passes is probably hell him," Scor whispered, bringing his voice down. He kneeled down beside Albus and reached out to touch the animal's neck. He could feel the wild heartbeat pounding against his palm. He moved his hand down towards the wound, but quickly recoiled back as the animal twitched. "Can you imagine bleeding out like that? Fighting for each breath until you eventually choke on your own blood."

He turned towards Albus as he was met with silence. Scor peered closely at his face, those green eyes watching each rise and fall of the deer's body.

"Although, I guess you can," Scor whispered, frowning as Albus brought his head up towards him. "Right? It's just like drowning, in a way. Except...well, he's been stabbed-  _twice_. I'm sure it hurts."

Albus was silent as he continued to bore his stare into Scor's face. He could see every emotion that flickered through Albus' gaze- guilt, pity, sympathy. They were all there, rearing their disgusting heads and demanding action. Scor knew Albus wanted to something- anything- to put the deer out of its torment.

Without saying a word, Scor held out the blade again.

"One quick slice is all it will take," he murmured. "He won't feel anything anymore."

Albus stared down at the knife. The blade was held between them, glittering like a sin and making the air thick and heavy. It was trying to suffocate him. It  _was_ suffocating him. He swallowed away the thickness in his throat with a strong gulp and reached forward. The knife felt foreign to him. He knew it was dangerous. He could feel the threat.

It would be quick. The deer wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

Scor gestured towards the neck of the animal and made a straight line with his finger in the air. Albus knew what it meant.

He lifted a trembling hand and placed it against the deer's hide.

 _It would be quick._   _No more pain._

Albus released a shuddering breath through his parted lips. He could feel Scor's stare burning into the side of his face. He gripped the knife as hard as he could.

_It would be quick._

He pushed the blade forward.

He just wanted to do the right thing.

God would forgive him. God would understand.


	16. Chapter 16

"I-I can't do it!"

Sweat was pouring down Albus' face, his chest heaving and arms shaking as he held the blade an inch from the deer's skin. The whines were worse than ever; horrid retched whimpers that sounded like bangs in the quiet night air. He wondered if anyone else could hear them.

He wished he couldn't.

Scorpius crouched down beside him, those mercury eyes of his glowing in the pitch darkness yet Albus could still see as they swept across the deer. Once he locked onto the pool of blood leaking from the wound, those grey eyes didn't stray.

"You are making this much more difficult than it has to be," he drawled out. His accent was too posh, too  _sharp_ that it made Albus flinch. It reminded him too much of the blade in his hand. The handle was starting to slip in the sweat that coated his palm.

Albus reached up and pushed the mop of his hair out of his face. Being bent at the waist, his drenched hair kept falling forward and obscuring his vision. The thought of being blinded out there, alone and possibly lost, was another terror that Albus wanted nothing to deal with. Each stray strand that fell into his view, he was quick to push it back, quick to clear his visual path. He would  **not** be blinded. Not out here.

"You have the knife, Albus," Scorpius grinned, almost as if he were joking.  _Teasing_. But then those eyes were on the deer and they hardened. "It's already dying. Just do it already."

Do it. Do it. Do it.  _Do it already._

Albus turned towards the blonde, his eyes wide. "I have never done this before. I c-can't just stab-"

Suddenly, Scor's arm shot forward.

A heavy groan escaped the deer; it was drawn out and loud, the worse of all so far. Albus resisted the urge to clamp his hands around his ears.

It had all happened too fast.

Scorpius had moved so abrupt that Albus hadn't registered the knife in Scor's hand until the blonde pulled away, leaving a silver handle sticking out of the deer's body.

Albus' jaw dropped in horror when he realized what Scorpius had done. He had stabbed it. He had jabbed the blade into the deer's flesh and had  _left it there._

He was speechless. He physically could not move his mouth, he could only stare at the handle as it protruded from the animal.

"Now it's your turn," he heard Scorpius whisper. The blonde nudged his shoulder into Albus, pushing him forward. But Albus didn't budge. He refused.

Albus' mouth opened and closed, opened and closed-

_You looked like a fish_.

\- but all that came out was a strangled gasp.

To his side, Scorpius sighed. It was obnoxiously loud and grated against Albus' eardrums. "At this rate," Scor spoke, "I might as well practice my aim. I still have ten arrows left." As if to make a point, he began to stand up.

His point was made. Stark and clear.

Albus closed his eyes in defeat and shot his hand out to wrap around Scor's wrist, halting his ascent.

"Don't hurt it anymore," he spoke, his voice was but a whisper but he knew Scor heard him. "It's already dying. Let it be in peace."

Scor tilted his head to the side. "That's not how it works, Albus. It will get its peace after it is dead. Not during. You of all people should know that."

Albus was quick to turn. "An easy death is its own reward. If it's already in pain, why further its discomfort?"

"Why  _not_?"

"It's inhumane!"

Scor laughed. He actually  _laughed_ , tilting his head back and letting it spill from his mouth with ease. He pulled his arm from Albus' grasp and stood to his full height.

"It's an  _animal_ ; nothing more, nothing less. These creatures are butchered on a daily basis by muggles, yet you call  _me_ inhumane?"

"You just shot two arrows into a harmless deer!" Albus hissed. He was furious, so much to the point that he couldn't stand to even look at Scor. But he wasn't done. "Then you stabbed it and now you want to go for round two? How can  _this-_ " he threw his hands at the dying animal "-not bother you?"

"It bothers me that you have the nerve to call me inhumane yet you refuse to put the damn thing out of its misery. I suppose you should ask yourself what is worse-  _refusing_ to give peace or  _trying_ to give it peace?"

Albus opened his mouth to argue but Scor was quick to continue, "By continuing to shoot it, I would essentially be bringing it closer to its death, no?"

"N-" the word died on his tongue. Because… because Scor was right. In a horrible, twisted kind of way, he was  _right_.

Scor grinned, eyebrows raising in victory. Albus couldn't help but note how much he looked like his father, Mr. Malfoy, at that moment. With that pleased sneer on Scor's face, he didn't resemble anything like Hermione. Not a single clue that Scor was physically  _half_ of the woman Albus had grown attached to.

"Who's the inhumane one now?" Scor snidely remarked.

Albus swallowed heavily but stayed quiet nonetheless. He could feel Scor hovering over his shoulder, watching-  _always watching, watching, watching_ \- and the blade felt heavy in his hand. It jarred him when he realized he hadn't let it go. Maybe… self consciously even his own body knew that Scor was right. They needed to put the animal out of its misery one way or another.

He realized that it didn't matter who did it, as long as one of them eventually  _did_ do it. If Scor was to be the one, then he would drag out the deer's death as long as he could by stabbing it with arrow after arrow until the animal exhaled its last breath. But if he were to be the one, if he were to end the deer's misery, he would make sure it would be fast. He would be as gentle as he could with one swipe of the blade across the animal's neck.

It was a no brainer to Albus which of them would be the one to commit the act.

He didn't like it, but he wasn't cruel.

Albus rolled his neck, taking a deep, deep breath.  _It had to be done._

He reached out with his left hand and placed it against the deer's neck, right above the area he would cut into. Beneath his palm he could feel the animal's warmth steadily radiating against his own, and the scattered heartbeat beating hard like a drum.

He focused on that beat, trying to determine if the deer was close to death or not, but he had no idea what he was feeling for. Death could be minutes away or… or hours. He had no clue.

He gripped the blade as hard as he could and brought his right hand forward. The point of the knife was against the deer's hide but he did not puncture, not yet because suddenly Scor was moving again. Albus followed the blonde's movement with hawk-like eyes as Scor walked around the deer's body, all the way to its head. The black bow was held in his hands but when he stopped in his tracks, he slid the weapon over his head and used both of his hands to grab ahold of the antlers that sprouted from the deer's head. With one strong pull, he tugged the deer's head so that its black eyes stared straight at Albus. Unlike Albus' hands, Scor's didn't shake. They held on like a vise.

"Just giving you a better angle," the blonde grinned. There was an expression in his eyes that Albus couldn't name, but he could have sworn that he was being… challenged.

Albus scowled. "Do you have to be so rough with it?"

He was answered with an eye roll. "Get on with it already, would you?"

"You know, if you're so good at this, why don't you do it?"

Grey eyes narrowed. "Because I don't  _want_ to. I already told you what I would do if you don't. It is not  _my_ fault that you have a problem with my…  _alternative_ method."

It was Albus' turn to roll his eyes.

As if mocking him, Scor gave the deer's head a shake, pressing it towards Albus to where the blade dug further into its skin. It wasn't enough to puncture.

"We'll do it together.  _You_ sever the atlanto occipital artery, and  _I_ will twist the head and pull. It'll pop straight off if you do it right."

It felt as if he had been struck by lightning. It felt as if he had drank acid and the harsh chemicals were burning him from the inside out. There was a bile taste in his mouth. He could not have possibly heard Scor correctly. His green eyes were wide when he looked up.

"You… you want to...  _behead_ it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I  _want_ to."

Oh.  _Oh_. There was something definitely wrong with that. Something that was so wrong that his brain was screaming at him to run and hide and get as far away from the blonde as he could, deer be  _damned_. He knew he should because no one normal would ever  _ever_ have such thoughts yet there Scor was- he was  _fucked_ up. Scor's head wasn't on right. His mind was scattered in pieces, not normal. How could a sane person even suggest-

" _Albus_."

He flinched at the sound.

"We do not have forever, and I am starting to get bored. You have five seconds," Scor sneered.

Albus glared but it lacked the effect. It was nothing compared to the look Scor could give, the one that demanded you to drop dead where you stood.

" _Five_."

Was he serious? Killing it was one thing but beheading it was something else completely. It was too much.

" _Four_."

Apparently he was. He could feel the panic begin to seep back into his blood steam, creeping in and making his heart pound in his chest.

Albus didn't want to know what would happen when Scor reached zero. His hands started to shake again. With one last burst of effort, Albus looked up at Scor, his eyes pleading like never before. "Scor, please!"

" _Three_."

Albus dropped his head back down. It was useless to beg. It was pointless to ask Scor for anything if it went against what the blonde wanted to do. But… but what about what he wanted to do? Did that not matter?

" _Two_ ," Scor's voice called out. There was something sickly-sweet that coated his voice, as if he was thoroughly enjoying every second that passed. Of course he did, otherwise neither of them would be here.

" _One_."

Albus sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and without a second thought, he jabbed his right hand forward. His lips parted in surprise at how easily the deer's flesh parted beneath the blade. How… fascinating it was.

* * *

The was blood everywhere. It sprayed from the cut in the deer's neck like a fountain; its red rivets endlessly gushing around him,  _onto_ him. Slowly, he could feel his jacket get drenched in the fluids but he couldn't move away, he was still doing his part even as Scor tugged onto the antlers with every slice of the blade that Albus made. He hadn't expected how deep he needed to dig the knife in order to actually reach the artery but he was  _doing his part._

He kept cutting.

The blood kept spraying.

* * *

The noise of the deer's head being ripped away from its body was something that would forever be etched in his memory. His piss-poor cutting skills left few strips of flesh that were still connected to the neck but Scor's pulls were enough for the bloody, tender strips of raw meat to break away with little resistance. Nonetheless, Albus watched in silence as the flesh gave away and Scor flung the top of the carcass to the side without care.

It landed on the earth with a thud.

Albus blinked.

* * *

"It's barely ten till six," Scor spoke, his white-blonde head bent to look at his wrist. His voice was remarkable steady, without any dips or halts. Albus feared that if  _he_ tried to speak, he would choke on his own tongue.

Scor's head raised back up, those glowing grey eyes locking onto him. "My parents usually do not wake up until eight. If we hurry back now, it'll give us plenty of time to shower and get into bed before either of them come wake us up."

The blonde began to walk back up the hill, not sparing Albus any thought otherwise. When he reached half-peak, however, he couldn't hear footsteps following and turned to give Albus an unamused scowl.

"What part did you not understand?" Scor sneered.

But Albus stayed rooted. His eyes were wide and unmoving as he watched Scor glare at him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Scor's hair, his clothes, his skin- he was  _clean_. Not a single drop of blood that smeared against his pale skin. Not a flash of red in that white-blonde hair of his. His clothes weren't  _wet_.

Yet,  _he_ on the other hand… the fabric of his clothes clung to his skin. He could feel the cool press of material against his chest, his arms, his thighs, and he  _knew_ it wasn't sweat. He could feel the strands of his hair clump together against his forehead and when he had accidentally reached up to swipe them out of his way, he had felt the wetness wipe against his forehead.

He  _knew_ it wasn't sweat.

It wasn't sweat.

Was. Not. Sweat.

The strong smell of copper gave the identity away. He smelled of rust and metal and he could even taste it on his tongue. That's how strong it smelled. The air around him reeked.

"If  _you_ want to stay out here, then go ahead for all I care," Scor spat and turned around without another word. The two bows on his back glittered as the moon shined down, the ends of the arrows clanging in their hoist. There was twelve now, all  _bright and shiny and new again_. Not long ago had he watched Scorpius yank the two arrows he had shot from the deer's carcass and casually wiped the bloodsoaked tips against the grass. The knives had been next. He had been meticulous in the cleaning, wiping and wiping and wiping and wiping until the crusted red flecks were nowhere to be seen; vanished from existence.

As if none of it had happened. The beheaded deer was all the proof Albus had, but even that would be gone eventually. How long would the grass surrounding the dead animal stay drowned of blood? How long until the crows picked its flesh from its bones? How long would it take until the earth swallowed up the remnants?

Albus clenched down on his jaw just as Scor reached the top. His strides were long and swift, leaving the scene without sparing any evidence he was even there. It clicked then- why Scor was so clean, how he had known where to shoot and where to slice. He had done this all before. It wasn't his first.

Albus' green gaze flickered to the outskirts of the forest, trying desperately to see through the darkness. It was a useless attempt but he wondered how many skeletons littered these woods- this  _graveyard_.

His gaze returned to the back of Scor's head and when he realized that the blonde was nearly out of his sight, he forced his legs into motion.

Not once did he look back.

* * *

It felt odd when they re-entered the house. It was as if movements from earlier had been rewound, almost exactly as they had occured the first time. Scorpius had eased the back door closed without making a sound. He glided into his father's office with both bows on his back while Albus stood motionless in the hall. With both bows and both sets of arrows back in their original position, not out of place by a millimeter, Scor eased the case shut and left the office like a breeze.

It was a blur really, gliding up the stairs and down the hall and through Scorpius' room and into his bathroom and thrown into his shower fully clothed. It had been Scor that turned the faucets on, not wasting time waiting for Albus to do it himself, and he disappeared back into his room without a word.

Albus stood frozen even against the warm spray of water that sprang from above. He kept his gaze down and unmoved, watching as the water that came off of him wasn't clear as it should have been. The red liquid was thick as it sloshed down the drain.

The shower continued to pelt against his skin but he paid it no mind. Albus kept watching the red river flow. He was so focused that he hadn't felt the tears begin to leak from his eyes and splash down at his feet. Just when he thought he caught the glimpse of something clean- something  _pure-_ the red river swallowed it up and reminded him of what he had just done.

* * *

When Albus' head hit the pillow he nearly crashed then and there. He could hear Scor sinking into his own covers from across the room but other than that, the world felt… dead. As if he and Scor were the last two alive on the entire planet. The quietness made his head pound even though his aching body was begging him to go to bed.

Could he still sleep after everything that had happened? When he closed his eyes all he could see was  _red, red, red,_  and the dangerous glint of a knife in his hand and gleaming arrows and ripped flesh and Scor  _pulling, pulling, pulling._ Albus' eyes shot open.

He could not sleep. So he didn't.

The quiet was all he could focus on. Minute after minute after minute. Until even that was too much.

"How did you know where to cut," he spoke. His voice was quiet and it had been at least an hour since they had laid down but he knew Scor was awake. He didn't know  _how_ he knew, he just did. As if it was just a feeling deep in his bones, gnawing at him.

And he was right.

"Does it matter?" came Scor's reply. There wasn't any sleep in his voice.

He let the question bounce around, the weight of it almost too much to even begin to analyze. Instead, he kept his wide eyes trained on the ceiling above, silently tracing the elegant trim that he could spot. The sun was starting to come up now and its faint rays were enough to provide Albus with the view of Scor's room. When he traced the ceiling for the third time, his gaze trickled to the window. He could make out a flock of birds in the distance, looking like nothing more than moving black dots against the pastel shades of the sunrise. But the avians were getting closer and closer until he could trace their small bodies- their spread wings, their tail feathers, their  _heads..._

Albus tilted his head to the side as the birds flew out of his view, over the manor's roof. They were nowhere near the size of a deer, he noted. He wondered how much pressure he would have to put on a knife in order to decapitate such a small creature. Or if he would need a knife at all. His hands would probably be good enough. Just one quick twist-

Albus pulled the sheets over his head and burrowed himself into the pillows as deeply as he could.

He was positive that he heard Scor snort at his silence.


End file.
